STRAY LEAVES FROM THE GERMAN: 



SELECT ESSAYS FROM ZSCHOKKE. 



STRAY LEAVES 



FROM THE GERMAN: 



OR, 



SELECT ESSAYS 

Q<Aii-n,-^iJ dy.i^i^'^ fya^cJO 

from;'zschokke. 



BY 

The Ret. W. B. FLOWER, B. A. 

Chaplain of the Training Schools, Swinton; 
And E. F. S. 

133/ 

/> LONDON: 

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & Co. 
1845. 



:& 



^^ *% 



A"^ 



k 



^ t^l 



knutsford: printed by t. howarth, princess strf.kt. 



LC control Number 




tmp96 



031682 



TO 



Mrs. LEYCESTER, 



TOFT HALL, CHESHIRE, 



WHO ADORNS HER HIGH STATION, 



NOT MORE BY HER OTHER VIRTUES, 



THAN BY HER SYMPATHY FOR THE POOR, 



THIS VOLUME 



IS MOST SINCERELY DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS. 



PKEPARATORY SKETCH. 
ESSAYS. 

PAGE. 

FAMILY WORSHIP 1 

PUBLIC WORSHIP 11 

THE FATHER '. 22 

THE MOTHER 34 

THE ART OF ATTAINING A HAPPY OLD AGE, Part I.... 45 

" " Part II , , 54 

IN ONE VIRTUE, ALL VIRTUE 63 

PROVIDENCE 73 

OUR DEPENDANCE ON GOD 81 

MAN, AND HIS DEEDS 92 

END OF THE YEAR 98 

BEGINNING OF THE NEW YEAR 108 

THE STRANGER 118 

THE OATH 128 

BROKEN FRIENDSHIP 137 

VENERATION TO PARENTS 147 

THE CHOICE OF PROFESSION 158 



INTRODUCTORY SKETCH 

OF 

Z S C H K KE'S LIFE.* 



CHAPTER I. 

EARLY YEARS. 



Heinrich Zschokke, the justly celebrated author of the 
^^ Hours of Devotion, " and numerous other works, dramatic, 
poetic, political, moral, and religious, was born at Magdeburg, 
on the 22nd of March, 1770. His mother, who is reported 
to have been very beautiful, survived his birth only for the 
short period of seven weeks. When dying, she fondly 
clasped her last-born to her bosom, and expressed an ardent 
wish that she could take him with her to the grave. His 
father was a cloth maker, highly esteemed by his fellow- 
citizens. Having acquired considerable wealth, in consequence 
of certain contracts entered into with the Russian army during 
the seven years' war, he was chosen master of the guild. 

Our author was, as might have been expected from the 
peculiar circumstances of the case, the especial favorite of his 
father. To such an extent was this affection indulged in, that 
it produced, as not unfrequently happens, entire blindness to 
the faults and failings of his son. Young Zschokke was 
allowed the unrestrained indulgence of his own wayward 
fancies, and he, who was afterwards so remarkable for 
attainments of no common order — for strength and sublimity 
of thought rarely surpassed — was noted at this time for 
nothing but his mischievous propensities. 

*The facts in this Sketch are taken from the Autobiography of Zschokke. 
b 



Z PREI'ARATOIIY SKETCH. 

In two particulars his father was especially careful. 
Having felt deeply in his own case the disadvantages 
resulting from a neglected education, he was resolved his 
darling child should not suffer from the same cause. Hence 
he sent him to school at six years of age. He moreover took 
him regularly to the services at the Church of S. Catherine, 
But School and Church were alike disagreeable to Heinrich. 
For the former he cared nothing ; and when in the latter his 
mind was always occupied with wild fancies touching angels, 
wishing that he was one of them, or at all events one of the 
little birds that flew about so merrily. Allowed to please 
himself he felt that unmixed happiness which it is the 
lot of children to enjoy. The death of his father, which 
occurred on the 18th of August, 1779, was the first cause 
of grief he had. After this event he was entrusted 
to the care of his brother Andrew. At first Zschokke 
did not awake to a consciousness of any important 
change in circumstances. In course of time, however, he 
began to wonder why his father and playmates had been 
taken from him, and he could no longer enjoy his former 
sports, and visit former scenes. His brother Andrew, who 
oarried on his father's business, cherished ambitious hopes 
and schemes. Hence our author must become quite different 
to any thing he had heretofore been. Sundry reformations, 
requisite to a gentlemanly exterior, were to be attended to. 
The hair-dresser and tailor w^ere called into requisiton. Old 
associations were broken off. This change of affairs suited 
not with Zschokke's taste. The new clothes, which generally 
please the boyish eye, pleased not him. He valued his old 
ones far more, because then he could romp about with any 
little fellows in the street. Debarred from this companionship, 
he proved as mischievous as possible in doors. — Every 
exertion was made to form gentlemanly habits and taste — but 



EARLY YEARS. 



all in vain. Poetry and music failed. Andrew now placed 
Heinricli at the convent of " Our Lady, " where was a 
celebrated school, under the care of Professor Rotgu. — Here 
he made no progress whatever. The kindness of his fellow- 
pupils, it is true, saved him from many a flogging, which his 
laziness merited. His French translations also he managed to 
get on with very nicely, after a fashion well-known to every 
schoolboy. But when the examination-day came it was 
discovered that he had learnt nothing, and he was summarily 
expelled, lest, were he permitted to remain, disgrace should be 
brought upon the establishment. Poor Andrew's rage and 
vexation knew no bounds, and it was only by main force that 
Zschokke was prevented running away. His eldest sister then 
took him under her care, and placed him at another school, 
hoping for better results. His new school pleased him 
much better. — His master Capsius especially was venerated 
by him. Here an incident of an apparently trifling character, 
was the first cause of young Zschokke's advancement in 
learning. One pupil, a youth who learnt Latin, was an 
especial favorite with the Schoolmaster. Whenever there was 
any thing to be seen in the streets, such as soldiers, puppet- 
shows, &c., this youngster was permitted to go and behold 
them, provided he asked permission of his master in a Latin 
phrase. 

Zschokke, though at this time only in his Catechism, 
could not resist the temptation, and resolved, at all hazards, 
to make himself master of the formula of conjuration. In 
vain did his companion represent to him the difficulties and 
intricacies in the declensions, the adjectives, &c. With a 
bold heart he trod the rugged path from ^^mensa" to ^^audio," 
and at the first opportunity, with somewhat of trepidation and 
fear, he used the magic sentence. His master in astonishment 
and doubt forthwith examined, then praised him, and with 

b 2 



^ PREPAEATORY SKETCH. 

prescience declared that something would be made of him. 
Henceforth he was pronounced the second Latinist, and 
admitted to all the rights and privileges, thereunto belonging. 
Henceforth also he devoted himself to his studies with 
unwearied diligence and energy. Eutropius and Phsedrus were 
learnt at school ; and at home a desire for the wonderful was 
excited by an old labourer, who lived in his sister's house, and 
who would at night relate his own adventures, and those of 
Alexander Selkirk, Robinson Crusoe, &c., interpersing his 
narratives with moral reflections, and enriching them with 
much of solid information. 

He had not learnt as yet to enter into the Devotions of 
the Church Services. — Formerly angels had occupied his 
thoughts ; now he was travelling over the world, busying his 
mind with fancies touching the clergyman's dress, watching 
the sleeping portion of the congregation, or admiring the lowly 
reverence of the people, when the name of the Blessed 
Saviour, Jesus, was pronounced. He seems to have 
entertained some very strange notions touching God j but as 
none would listen to them he was compelled to keep them 
within his own breast. 

Having, therefore, none to whom he could communicate 
the secret aspirations of his soul, he became fearful and timid. 
Much did he long for one heart, one friendly bosom, which 
would rejoice with him in his joy, and sympathize with him in 
his day of grief. — But none such could be found. And now 
he realized, in all the bitterness of grief, a full sense of his 
helpless condition as an orphan. Other children he saw 
beloved and caressed by their parents; but there was no 
mother to press him to her bosom — no father to wipe away 
with kindly hand the tears from his eyes. No wonder 
then that now his mhid returned to former days and former 
scenes, and that he endeavoured to recall the words, aye, and 



EARLY YEARS. O 

the very looks of his sainted father. — Oftentimes during 
the night season would he leave his bed, and kneeling down 
with tears in^ his eyes, pray that his father would appear unto 
him, and speak a few words of comfort to soothe his sorrowing 
heart. To his father he addressed his complaints. On these 
occasions he endeavoured to clothe his prayers and his wishes 
in poetical language, because he thought higher beings should 
be addressed in nobler strains than those of mere prose. 

His bitter sorrows were materially increased by the 
harsh treatment he received at the hands of his sister and 
brother-in-law. Instead of reverencing the ties that bound 
them together, they refused him all the endearments to which 
his relationship entitled him, and treated him not as a brother, 
nor yet as a friend, but very little, if any, better than an 
errand-boy. In summer, however, he used to console himself 
by pursuing his midnight studies in his little bedroom, being 
on these occasions engaged in reading, or indulging his 
poetical fancies. But in winter this joy was taken from him. 
There was no stove in his bedroom, and he w^as not allowed 
the use of a light. His ingenuity, however, supplied him 
with the latter, and his devotion to literature rendered him 
careless of the cold. A turnip scooped out and filled with oil, 
served him for a lamp. — But he was discovered, and was well 
rated for his misconduct by his relatives. 

Stung by the treatment he received, he determined within 
himself that this state of things should no longer exist. On 
the morning after the discovery he proceeded to his Guardian, 
and laid the case before him ; but his mission was ineffectual, 
for his Guardian made him no reply. But he was not to be 
daunted from further attempts. When he left his Guardian, 
he went to the President of the Guardianship office. The 
President heard his tale, inquired his age, (he was at this time 
13 years old,) and dismissed him with the assurance that a 



b PRErARATORY SKETCH. 

better arrangement should be speedily made. Accordingly 
he was removed from his sister's house, and sent to board with 
a teacher in the Alstadter school, and on his death was placed 
under the care of the Rector thereof. — All these matters, 
though apparently slight and insignificant, are of great 
importance, from the influence they exerted on his after life. 

Time passed on, and young Zschokke was declared old 
enough for a participation in the Blessed Eucharist. For 
this he was carefully prepared by the holy and devout priest 
of S. Catherine's. He relates that he scarcely ever left the 
priest's house, but his eyes were red with weeping, and he 
was filled with deep penitence for his sins. The Church now 
became to him no unmeaning thing — but the Holy of Holies 
— the House of God. — Its lofty spires pointed him to the 
High and Holy One that inhabiteth Eternity; its Gothic 
columns and pointed arches were symbolical representations of 
heavenly things, and the swelling notes of the organ filled his 
soul with holy thoughts, and spake to him in the language of 
better worlds. Heaven and earth appeared to have been 
brought together in the presence of the Deity. Alone in the 
world he took the beloved Redeemer for his friend. But with 
all this, stability was wanting. He read greedily, night and day, 
whatever books were brought before him — but whatever book 
he last read, according to that he formed his opinions. He 
lived in an ideal world — and delighted himself with the 
creations and fancies of his own fertile imagination. 

After a while a great change took place in Zschokke's 
affairs. A trifling incident occurred, and he was threatened 
with expulsion from the gymnasium. He waited for some 
days for the execution of the sentence. As delay took place 
he was resolved to put it in force against himself. — One 
morning, therefore, he left the school, proceeded to his 
Guardian, and, with all the eloquence he could command, 



EARLY YEARS. 7 

requested permission to enter the University. His prayers and 
entreaties failed^ and his Guardian told him that in two years 
more the clock would strike soon enough for that. Refused 
his wishes, he resolved to fly. He had no father or mother, 
and therefore determined to go into the world — even though 
lie had nothing but a beggar's wallet. 

The difficulty was, whither he should wend his way. 
To Switzerland with its beautiful lakes, or Bavaria the favored 
spot of monastic seclusion ? At length his eye rested on 
Mecklenburg, where an old schoolfellow of his, now a court- 
actor, resided. This decided him, and packing up his little 
possessions, with a new-year's gift his sister had given him, 
and the pocket money he had saved, he commenced his 
travels. 



CHAPTER II. 

THE WANDEREE. 



On the 22nd of January, 1788, (a cold and foggy 
morning,) young Zschokke, following his own natural impulses, 
wandered with a light heart, over hill and dale. With omens 
of success he made his way to Schwerin. Arrived here, he 
proceeded at once to the rooms of his old schoolfellow, 
Wachsmann, whom he found at breakfast with his wife. The 
reception he met with damped the hopes that he had fondly 
cherished ; for Wachsmann chided him for the folly he had 
committed, in leaving Magdeburg, and advised him to lose no 
time in returning home. He moreover made sundry sarcastic 
and cutting observations upon Zschokke's turning court- 
player. 

Cut to the heart by the unexpected coldness, and the 
biting sarcasm of his former friend, (which Zschokke did 
not fail to return,) he left the room, and saw him no more. 
For a while he stood before the house wondering what to do 
next. A stranger who had been present at his interview with 
Wachsmann, and who was in a government ofEce, came up to, 
and in the kindest manner soothed him with words of comfort, 
evincing deep sympathy for him. But he did more than this. 
He introduced him to a printer, who was desirous of meeting 
with a private tutor for his children. Into this office Zschokke 
was installed. And for the first time in his life, he enjoyed 
the rich luxury of domestic happiness. His existence now was 
a heaven upon earth : for enjoying the afiection of his pupils, 
the kindness of their father, and the sympathy of his stranger- 
friend, he had nothing more which he could desire. He wrote 



THE WANDERER. 9 

whilst in this situation, many compositions botli in prose and 
verse. — His former melancholy passed away, like the dew 
before the morning sun. 

This quiet and sedentary life did not please him long. 
He pined for other and more stirring scenes, and began 
to think it a sin to waste his time in the little town in 
which he was then located. The spring and the summer 
passed, aijd he put into execution none of the plans he had 
formed for travelling excursions, but had been saving all the 
money he could command. He, at this time, accidentally 
met with a person of agreeable manners, and one well- 
acquainted with the world. His name was Burgheim. He 
and Zscliokke soon became mutually attached, and as the 
former was seeking for stars to perform at his theatre, it was 
arranged that the latter should go with him in the capacity of 
theatrical poet. The parting between Zscliokke and his pupils 
was trying in the extreme, and during leave-taking he repented 
his hasty resolution j but it was then too late to retrace his steps. 

In November, 1788, Zschokke joined the theatrical corps ; 
and derived no little pleasure from the reckless kind of life 
which they led. All day long he jested and sang, and at 
night indulged in various practical jokes and tricks which 
delighted or terrified the inhabitants of the villages where 
they stopped. The theatre at Prenzlau was opened with a 
poetical prologue from his pen. Much as he was pleased with 
his new career, he was not the less disgusted with the every-day 
life of the motley company to which he had attached himself. 
Hence he withdrew gradually from them, and gave himself 
up uninterruptedly to his dramatic labors, altering old 
comedies, mangling all kinds of pieces to suit modern taste 
and the wishes of the actors. His leisure hours he occupied 
in study, rummaging all the libraries that existed in the several 
towns through which they passed. This gained for him the 



10 PRErARATOEY SKETCH. 

reputation of a studious young man, and won him the 
friendship of many excellent and well-informed people. 

With the first breath of spring the dramatic corps 
proceeded to Landsberg. Here they lived the same kind of life 
as before — but as soon as summer enriched the country with 
more glorious scenery than the theatre could display, all efforts 
to sustain it w^ere ineffectual, and the company was broken-up. 
The rest of his companions were dispersed in all directions, 
but Zschokke remained at Landsberg, living in frugality upon 
his savings, and employing the summer and winter in 
preparation for the University. As the Easter of 1790 
approached, he wrote to his Guardian, requesting to be 
entered at the University of Frankfort, on the Oder, being 
influenced to make this choice because of its proximity to 
Landsberg, and because also some friends of his were about to 
enter at the same seat of learning. His Guardian, to the 
great delight of Zschokke, joyfully gave his consent to the 
proposition. Wanderer as Zschokke had been during the last 
two years, he had nevertheless learnt some lessons of great 
practical utility. The lightheartedness of youth had returned, 
and he had learnt to feel comfortable mid all the vicissitudes 
and shifting scenes of life ; to be joyful in adversity, and 
cautious in prosperity; to look at the better side of every 
character, and judge favourably of all. 

Upon being entered at the University, he was required 
to determine what course of study he would follow. He could 
not tell, but requested that he might be allowed free choice 
among the muses. The professor looked at him with astonish- 
ment, and replied that he must decide for one of the faculties ; 
but that having chosen one of the muses for his wife, he 
might flirt a little with each of the rest. For a while he was 
undetermined, but at length decided for theology, thinking that 
his religious friends at Magdeburg would highly approve of the 



THE WANDEREK. II 

choice he had made. He now gave himself up night and 
day to the prosecution of his studies, not so much from real 
love of them, as from a fear lest he should be far surpassed 
by the other pupils, who had not spent, as he had done, the 
last two years in wandering about the country. 

He continued an unsocial bookworm until the death of 
one of the students, when he was appointed to read the funeral 
oration. The oration was composed and read — and during its 
recital, the auditors wept. This circumstance first brought him 
into notice, and drew him from the solitude he had heretofore 
courted. He had many friends, yet lived in confidential inter- 
course with but few. A number of the students of kindred 
taste resolved to shun the drinking haunts and gaming table, 
and formed themselves into a literary club, emulating each 
other in their labors. They were wont to act dramas — and tell 
narratives of their own inventions — or dress up old ones in such 
a manner that they could not be known. It was for this club 
that Zschokke revised an old Venetian anecdote, which excited 
universal admiration. He was advised to write it down, and 
then dramatize it. Such was the origin of the celebrated 
Abellino, which was soon acted in every theatre in Germany. 
Had it not been for the religious doubts with which Zschokke 
was harassed, he would at this time have been the happiest 
of mortals. 

But here again he was bewildered by those perplexing 
doubts which had heretofore distressed him, and in consequence 
thereof his old despondency returned to him. In his distress 
he consulted one of the professors, who entered into all the 
circumstances of the case, and having himself at one time 
experienced similar difficulties, advised him as best he could. 
The advice of the professor made a deep impression upon 
Zschokke's mind, and he continued to search for himself, 
neglecting the teaching of the Church. He studied perseve- 



12 PREPARATOHY SKETCH, 

ringly, but alas ! did not attain the object he had in view. So 
perplexed was he that at this time he almost wished he were 
some cold phlegmatic man, whose mind busied itself about 
nothing more than how he could earn his daily bread. In 
order, therefore, to divest his mind from the subjects which 
had disturbed his quiet, he resolved to subject himself to a 
regular and systematic course of College reading. In due 
time he proceeded to his examination, during which the 
two examiners had a somewhat severe quarrel. Zschokke 
maintained a lengthened disputation in Latin, and obtained in 
his 22nd year the diploma of Doctor Philosophise, et Magister 
Artium. 

He now returned to his relations at Magdeburg to whom 
he had long been reconciled; his brother Andrew maintaining 
with great perverseness, that his skill as a pedagogue had first 
fanned the flame in the breast of the youthful Doctor. 

He entered the pulpit at Magdeburg, and preached some 
few times, even though all his doubts had not at this time been 
resolved. Lamentable indeed is it to see how one of 
a mind such as his, could give loose to that mind, and indulge 
its powers in matters of speculation, rather than yield due 
obedience to the revealed will of God. In later life his faith 
became stronger, and the mist with which he had been 
surrounded cleared away. 

Thence he returned to Frankfort, where he spent the next 
three years in the capacity of a private lecturer. His lectures 
on every subject he undertook were listened to by crowded 
audiences, and his success as ^' Doctor Legens '* was so very 
great, that he felt emboldened to offer himself as a candidate 
for a public professorship. — This the minister refused him 
because of his youth, although he was strongly recommended 
by all the other professors. This caused him to travel once 
again. Breaking up his small establishment, he proceeded in 



THE WANDEKEK. 13 

May, 1795, in the mail to Berlin and Leipzig. — Travelling 
through Saxony, Franconia, and Schwabia, he entered 
Switzerland, and walked through the different parts of it during 
the whole of the autumn. His travels, and the letters of 
introduction he had with him, gained him the acquaintance of 
men of the first literary rank j and, as he had no fixed route, 
he went whithersoever circumstances or his inclination led him. 
Before the end of the winter he was in Paris ; the whole of 
which city he examined with the most minute care and 
attention. — His noblest feelings were here awakened, and his 
admiration excited, not by any Avork of human art — but 
by the character and piety of an aged recluse, the Count 
Stabbendorf, who though poor was rich, for though his 
income was small, he contrived to give much away in charity. 
This holy man Zschokke made his model in many things, 
especially in respect to the management of his income, since 
in after-life we find Zschokke living at his ease, though father 
of a large family, with very frugal means. — Although he had 
no other resources than his own, yet he neither asked nor 
received any thing from any one. 

From Paris he returned to Switzerland. At the Falcon 
hotel at Berne, he made the acquaintance of Aloys Reding, a 
captain in a Swiss regiment, which had been in the Spanish 
service. On his invitation he proceeded to Schwyz, where he 
was very kindly received by the whole family, and an intimacy 
was formed with Reding, which continued uninterruptedly until 
the death of the latter. Thence he proceeded to Reichenau, a 
small town in Upper Rhsetia, where he became intimately 
acquainted with the aged and venerable principal of the once 
celebrated school, which was now in a very declining state. 
He was also introduced to Tscharner, the President of the 
states. Both of these gentlemen informed him of the declining 
state of the School, which was the only one of the kind for 



14 PREPAEATOEY SKETCH. 

many miles round, and prevailed upon Zschokke to accept the 
management of it.* 

On the 9tli December, 1796, he signed the contract, for 
part of the grounds and buildings of Reichenau ; and within the 
short space of one year, he had no less than seventy boarders 
under his care. Whilst here, he composed the histoiy of the 
free state of the three alliances in Higher Rhaetia. This work 
passed through three several editions, and was moreover 
translated into French and Italian, He also published a small 
catechism, containing a concise description of the world, and 
the history of the country, which he intended as the basis of 
a scheme of popular education. The result was far more 
pleasing, than he could have expected. It stamped Zschokke 
as a man of no mean ability and deep research 5 and obtained 
for him the freedom of the country, an honor which had been 
given to no other foreigner during that century. 

Living in quiet seclusion from the world, he had not paid 
even the slightest attention to the great revolutionary 
proceedings of France, until, to settle some disputes which 
had arisen in Berne, she sent a body of troops to the shores 
of the lake of Geneva. 

Each canton fancied itself sufficiently powerful to ward 
off the enemy, and thus canton after canton fell. Zschokke's 
friend Aloys Reding was at the head of the Schwyz militia, and 

* The School was managed by Zschokke, in the following manner. He endeavoured as 
early as possible to teach the children habits of frugality and self-denial. Hours of study, 
were such in reality. Rewards were abolished, and the pupils taught to cultivate learning 
for its own sake. There were no public examinations. Every Sunday, the Scholars being 
assembled in the chapel of the castle, he adapted his discourses in such a manner as to throw- 
light on the events of the week. To the school a little theatre was attached, and charades were 
acted by the pupils, A weekly tiibunal was held, the oiEcers of which were chosen from 
the scholai-s themselves. The causes were pleaded, and the decisions were subject to appeal 
to the teachers. The most severe punishments were inflicted on lying and deceit. By this 
means the scholars acquired habits of thought and judgment, as well as a facility for 
speaking, and the teachers were made acquainted with many things, which otherwise they 
would not have known. 



THE WANDEEEK. l5 

Zschokke offered to serve under him. Reding's reply came 
too late, when the canton, after an ineffectual resistance, 
had been subdued. 

He now became conscious that the free states of theRhaetian 
Alps would soon be destroyed, although the Grisons were only 
connected by certain treaties with Berne, Zurich, and the Valais. 
Midst the universal discontent which prevailed, his pupils were 
soon removed from his school at Reichenau, and his teachers 
requested to be dismissed ; Zschokke's establishment was soon 
deserted, and he left alone in his castle. The war of the 
factions still continued to rage more violently. The chiefs of 
the Partricians used to meet at Reichenau, and Zschokke, the 
advocate of popular freedom, was invited to their councils. 
At these assemblies it was resolved not to reject union with 
Helvetia, but to defer it until peace had been restored ; or with 
an understanding that the Grisons should not have French 
troops among them. These propositions were drawn up in a 
simple form by Zschokke, and distributed among the people. 
In doing this he thought he had merely discharged his duty 
as a citizen, but found to his cost that he had poured oil upon 
the flames. 

The day at length came, on which a final decision was to 
be come to concerning the proposals of France and Switzerland. 
A large majority of the assembled deputies, instead of 
maintaining that neutrality, which Zschokke's pamphlet 
advocated, rejected all offers of union with Helvetia. 

As soon as this step had been taken, the government 
(the committee of the Diet) was dissolved, and that of the 
three chiefs of the confederacy restored. Hereupon all who 
maintained the necessity of the union of the Grisons with the 
rest of Switzerland, were rejected as traitors, and treated 
accordingly. Many, who were heretofore fondly loved and 
venerated by the people, Avere compelled to flee their country. 



16 PEEPAEATORY SKETCH. 

Zschokke thought that owing to his political insignificancy 
he should be permitted to go unscathed. — But it was not so. 
A circumstance soon occurred, which proved to him clearly 
enough that his life was not safe, and a few days after it 
occurred, he packed up what would be requisite for the 
homeless exile, and set off again as a wanderer. 



CHAPTER III, 

THE EXILE, ETC. 



In the month of August, 1798, he floated down the Rhine 
on a raft of wood, until he came to the village of Ragatz, lying 
on the Swiss shore. Upon the shore he espied some well- 
dressed persons, walking leisurely up and down. Some of 
these he soon recognized as his companions in exile. His raft 
was brought to land, and Zschokke received among them with 
a hearty and sincere welcome. 

Before his arrival it had been resolved to send a 
deputation to Aarau, (the seat of the Helvetian Government,) 
in order to obtain protection for those, upon whom the 
vengeance of the Austrian party was being wreaked. To 
Tscharner, the negotiation of this affair was entrusted ; but of 
the rest none were found willing to accompany him. All had 
some plausible excuse or another. When, however, Zschokke 
arrived, all called upon him to accompany his friend, seeing 
that he had no wife, nor children, nor parents, and had moreover 
many influential friends, whose sympathy and co-operation he 
might ensure. Zschokke assented, and he and his friend, 
furnished with such credentials as they could obtain, set off" 
for Aarau. Here they met with a kind reception from the 
directory of the republic. All the assistance, however, that 
could be given, was in the shape of flattering promises. 
Tscharner, who could not command the same buoyancy of 
spirits as Zschokke, and who was more fitted for the quiet 
seclusion of the study, than the discharge of public duties, 
grew weary, and spiritless, and notwithstanding all that 



18 PREtARATOIlY SKETCH. 

Zschokke could do or say, gave up to him all his 
credentials, and left the whole transaction of the matter in 
his hands. 

Zschokke was not at all embarrassed by the difficulties of 
his new situation. He drew up a statement of the case, in the 
language and spirit of the times, which he addressed to the 
executive directory. This was received with the greatest 
applause, and a vote was passed to the effect that the patrons 
of the Grisons had deserved the favor of the republic. 
Zschokke had stationed himself in the gallery of the hall, in 
order to see what would be the effect produced by the statement 
he had drawn up. He was observed, and called upon to come 
forward that a public reception might be given him. He was 
led into the assembly, and received by shouting and clapping 
of hands, whilst the President of the assembly left his throne, 
and gave him the kiss of brotherhood. He received these 
honors as paid to those whom he represented, and learnt that 
to be made a public spectacle of, is not the most agreeable or 
desirable thing in the world. The seat of government was 
removed from Aarau to Lucerne, whither Zschokke also 
proceeded. Here in the company of his valued friends he had 
much of enjoyment and pleasure. Meanwhile the distresses 
of the exiles continued to increase. Day after day still more 
melancholy tidings reached him. The miserable fugitives were 
dispersed over all parts of Switzerland. Many sought refuge 
with Zschokke, whilst he strained every nerve to have 
wherewithal to assist them. The little supply he had brought 
with him from Reichenau was soon exhausted. In order, 
therefore, to raise further funds for his charitable design, he 
sold at any price his unpublished dramas, romances, and 
translations, obtaining also sums from booksellers upon 
projected works. He next addressed an urgent appeal to the 



THE EXILE, ETC, 19 

Helvetic Government, praying tliem to grant pecuniary 
assistance to the most miserable of the exiles. A decree was 
passed to grant the request. It was resolved that Salis Seewis 
the poet should return thanks on behalf of those who had been 
thus providentially aided. The poet wrote and learnt his 
speech, but when the time for its delivery came he had 
forgotten it. Zschokke hereupon volunteered to address a few 
extemporary words. He spoke with emotion such as he had 
never felt on any former occasion. Every eye was moist with 
tears, and his speech, which was taken down in short hand, was 
immediately printed and circulated. For this his enemies at 
home had him outlawed and deprived of all the rights of 
citizenship. 

Thus separated from his home, he accepted a government 
situation, offered him by his kind friend Stapfer. The duties 
of his office were to make government acquainted with the 
wants of the people, the general state of culture, and kindred 
topics. This object he thought would be best achieved by 
associations, and accordingly he formed one at Lucerne, which 
was to be called a national society ; and keeping clear of all 
political subjects, was to endeavour to promote unity, the 
instruction of the people, and the encouragement of the arts and 
sciences. Similar associations were soon formed at Berne, 
Zurich, and other places. A periodical for the carrying out of 
these objects was commenced under the editorship of Pestalozzi. 
This, however, was but little read. For this journal Zschokke 
was requested to write, but declined, and at the same time told 
Pestalozzi of what character a periodical ought to be in order 
to succeed. 

This piqued Pestalozzi not a little, and he advised 
Zschokke to make the attempt. This he did, and commenced 
the "Swiss Messenger," which commanded the greatest 
attention, and made its way into all the towns and villages of 



20 PEEPAEATOEY SKETCH. 

every canton. The invasion of Switzerland by the French 
soon put an end to this publication. 

He was next appointed government commissary for 
CJnterwalden — and was commanded to compel respect and 
obedience, to support the courage of the patriots, and to adopt 
violent measures with regard to the disaffected. The day after 
he received his appointment, he repaired to his post, taking 
with him his Secretary, one, who had been a pupil at 
Reichenau, and whom he ardently loved, for the purity of his 
mind, and perfect honesty. 

Ignorant of the country whose interests he was to further, 
Zschokke, as soon as he arrived at Stanz, convoked the elders, 
magistrates, and clergy, of the different communities, in order 
to make himself thoroughly conversant with the present 
condition of the country, and the ability of those who were at 
the head of affairs. He soon by this means ascertained the 
deplorable condition of the people, and discovered that in 
order to carry out the designs he had in view, every energy of 
his mind would be required; mildness without weakness, 
firmness without cruelty; tliese alone could be of use to him. 
Adopting principles such as these for his guidance, and 
supported by the co-operation of the central government, he 
was enabled to restore somewhat of peace and security within 
a few weeks. Symptoms of new outbreaks were shown in 
some parts, but yet every spark of rebellion was suppressed. 
Some of the peasant women were among the noisiest of the 
disaffected, and expressed great anxiety for the arrival of the 
Austrian troops, and chided the pusillanimity of their small 
friends and relations. Zschokke summoned these to meet him 
in an open square at Stanz, and stated to them, that as they were 
so impatient for the arrival of the Austrian troops, he purposed 
sending them over in a body to the Austrian quarters. This 
produced the desired result. They at once disclaimed any such 



THE EXILE, ETC. 



•21 



intentions and so were allowed to return home, amidst the 
derision of the people. One of them a rural Sappho, whose 
muse had been employed in writing seditious songs for the 
people, wrote to Zschokke supplicating his pardon. This he 
was graciously pleased to grant her ; and required as the terms 
on which it was given, that she should compose a hymn in 
honor of the Helvetic Republic. He always found the 
ludicrous to ba the best cure for the follies of the ignorant. 

Meanwhile in Uri the contentions between the French 
and Austrians were carried on with great uncertainty. A 
rumour was spread abroad, that the French had been defeated, 
and that the victors were marching to Unterwalden. Exulta- 
tion and despair alike prevailed. Zschokke, however, soon 
received official communications, announcing the falsehood of 
the report that had obtained ; and thus the confusion was 
ended, as speedily as it had commenced. Orders were at the 
same time given him to make arrangements against the further 
advance of the enemy, and to defend the mountain passes. 
This he gladly would have done, but unfortunately no army 
was sent with the despatch. General Loison, six days after 
this, arrived with his brigade, and this removed the difficulty : 
although the arrival of the troops created new ones. 

General Bey, commanding the Austrians, endeavoured a 
few weeks after this to enter Unterwalden by the mountain 
passes — but was defeated, and eight hundred were taken 
prisoners — among whom was the General himself. — Fourteen 
days after this the French made an excursion into Uri. As 
soon as the foreign soldiers had quitted Unterwalden, Zschokke 
established a militia for the maintenance of the public peace, 
having eight or ten armed men in every village, who were 
entirely at the disposal of the local authorities. 

As Schwyz also was overrun by the French soldiery — 
who were anxious to avenge the sufferings of their comrades, 



22 PREPAEATORY SKETCH. 

Zscliokke, indignant that the government had taken no steps 
to repress their lawless proceedings, determined to do this 
himself. Accordingly he went thither without orders, and wrote 
to the government to state, that in so doing he conceived he was 
consulting the best interests of his coimtry. Here as in former 
cases of difficulty and danger, he assembled deputies from the 
different cantons, appointed new magistrates in the stead of 
of those who had fled, and proclaimed a free pardon for past 
offences, requiring the fugitives to return to their homes. The 
executive thanked him for what he had done, and appointed 
him commissary plenipotentiary of the canton in which 
Schwyz, Uri, Unterwalden, &c. were situated. With unwearied 
assiduity and energy he gave himself up to the restoration of 
peace and quiet, and something of order in the districts. And 
in the spring of the year 1800 he had, at least, pretty nearly 
accomplished the object of his mission. New magistrates 
had been appointed j legal authority restored ; property 
secured; and the French army had been withdrawn from 
Switzerland, in order to prosecute the war in Germany. He 
now hoped, after thus much of toil, to be permitted to enjoy the 
peaceful repose of private life. The greatest part of the 
spring he passed with the Redings — giving himself up to 
philosophy, and poetical compositions — But this state of 
things was soon broken in upon, for he was appointed 
by the Directors, to do for the Valais, what he had already 
done for Unterwalden, &c. He was moreover required to 
accompany the army of the first consul over Mount S. Bernard. 
— This he declined to do at first; but afterwards gave his 
consent. This, as may be imagined, was a task of no little 
difficulty, for he had to provide a large army with rations, and 
at the same time to take care that the poor country, through 
which they passed, was not too oppressively taxed. When he had 
arrived at that part of Switzerland, to which he had been sent, 



ETC. 23 

he found disorder and wretchedness prevailing on every hand. 
Here the energies of his master-mind were brought into play. 
In order to calm the people he saw it was necessary that the 
clergy should be conciliated. The description he gives of the 
ecclesiastics of this day is any thing but satisfactory. They were 
for the most part deficient in education and acquirement, 
spending their time in the public-houses — at the gaming table, 
&c. For their labours they were ill-requited, and even the 
convents themselves were very poor. — Though Zschokke did 
whatever he could for the clergy, yet the Helvetic Republic was 
preached against, and prayers were offered up, that success 
might attend the Austrian arms. 

He soon saw that nothing could be done, unless he took 
advantage of the sins of the Helvetic governors. The new 
legislators of Switzerland, had impiously abolished tithes and 
church-rates without giving an equivalent. He forthwith 
proclaimed his intention to restore the laws of tithes. — This 
declaration was received with joy, and in consequence thereof, 
peace and order were restored ; and Zschokke received the 
title of "Protettore della Religione Cattolica." 

The fate of Italy appearing to have been decided on the 
plains of Morengo, Zschokke determined to set himself 
resolutely against the party warfare which had been productive 
of so much mischief in Italian Switzerland. He declared his 
opinions with boldness and distinctness; but instead of 
producing the results he anticipated, he was hated by both 
parties, being accused by the one as a revolutionist, and by the 
other as an agent of Austria, or a hireling tool of England. 
In this state of clashing interests, continued watchfulness and 
energy could alone advantage him. The schemes of each party 
were betrayed by the other. Many anonymous letters were 
received by him, in which his life was threatened. But he took 



24 PKEPAEATORY SKETCH. 

no notice of any of them, nor was he accompanied at any time 
by escorts. 

In a while he was appointed to go to Mailand, to act as 
commissary to the French army. The duties of this office he 
discharged in such a manner as materially to reduce the exactions 
which would have otherwise been demanded of a people already 
too much oppressed. In August he finally restored this country 
to a pretty quiet state of things -, and he received from Berne 
the acceptance of his resignation, which he had some time 
prayed for, but with such conditions as rendered it necessary for 
him to remain there for some time longer. He hoped for rest 
and quiet, but was again disappointed. Before he arrived at 
Berne, he was chosen governor of the canton of Basle, where 
an insurrection was daily expected. Upon his arrival at Basle, 
he found the people in a state of great insubordination, and 
unwilling any longer to render obedience to the deputy governor. 
Amidst the general distraction that prevailed, he could gain 
but little insight into his new duties. 

Soon after his arrival, he ordered the deputies from the 
discontented parties to meet him at Gelterkind. His desire 
was to hear the complaints of the people, and legislate 
accordingly. But this proved no easy task. Had he 
endeavoured to comply with their demands, it could only have 
been done by the abolition of all the existing laws. Neither 
warning nor supplication had any effect upon them. He 
managed, however, to obtain from them a promise, that for a 
certain period they would abstain from any outbreak, and give 
him time for consideration. The promise was not kept, for a 
few days after an insurrection broke out. About two thousand 
armed peasants made an attack uponthetownof Leistal. Thither 
he forthwith proceeded, and demanded that deputies should 
meet and consult with him. Many of the men were drunk. These 



THE EXILE, ETC. 25 

he sent home to sleep off their drunkenness. In course of time, 
and after many and different measures, he obtained assurances of 
total submission from most of the towns, who delivered up 
their arms in accordance with a proclamation which he had 
made. Some of the most guilty of the rebels were taken 
prisoners, and condemned to death, a sentence which he took 
care should not be put into execution. Thus he persevered in 
restoring quiet to the land, although during all the while he 
had received no remittances from government, notwithstanding 
the heavy expenses he had incurred on its account. He 
therefore sent in his claims for such expenses as he distinctly 
remembered, and for the salaries of his secretaries. He did 
not draw the salary which belonged to the Stadtholder of Basle. 
These outlays were not paid him until the year 1816, when he 
received compensation for them, as being a part of the national 
debt. And now one form of government succeeded another in 
Switzerland, until Aloys Reding was appointed first 
Landamman — or chief magistrate of the whole of the republic. 
For this situation Reding, though a most honest and upright 
man, was but ill fitted either by mental capabilities or 
experience. It was soon evident that those in power purposed 
returning to the old form of sovereignty, and regaining the 
privileg-es of their families and estates. Many of the officers, 
as soon as they perceived this, sent in their resignations, and 
Zschokke among the rest. The majority of these were at once 
received, but Reding entreated his friend Zschokke not to 
leave him at such an important crisis. To this, however, he 
could not assent J seeing that he could not retain his position 
without compromise of principles. He recommended a well- 
qualified man for his successor, who was appointed. He 
retired to Berne, where he could pass the winter in the 
enjoyment of the society of Reding, and many others. On his 



26 PREI'AEATORY SKETCH. 

way thither he amused himself with planning schemes for the 
future, thinking at times of re-establishing the school at 
Reichenau, at others of purchasing a little farm, where he could 
devote himself to literature, and, perchance, to the society of 
a sweet pretty maiden he had seen at Basle. He had also 
thought of entering once more into the arena of public life, 
under certain conditions, seeing that active employment had 
become, to a certain extent, necessary for him. 

In Berne he soon found a nice winter residence, and had 
around him a circle of intimate friends. His earliest visit was 
paid to Reding, about whom many conflicting opinions prevailed 
among the people. In one of his visits to Reding, he opened 
his mind fully to him, telling him the opinions that were 
entertained of him. They then entered into a discussion 
touching the state of affairs, but could not agree at all. The 
result in fact was any thing but satisfactory, as it proved the 
cause of estrangement to the two friends. Reding treated 
Zschokke with coldness, and Zschokke in turn visited Reding 
less frequently than before. After this Zschokke was regarded 
with suspicion, and all his movements watched, a step absolutely 
unnecessary, seeing that no longer he felt an interest in public 
affairs. 

His time, however, was passed very agreeably and 
profitably, as he enjoyed the friendship of Ludwig Wieland, 
the son of the poet, and Heinrich von Kleist, two young men 
of his own age, who were ardently devoted to poetry and art. 

Freed from all anxiety about political affairs, more serious 
thoughts now occupied his attention. He carefully reviewed 
the past, and this retrospection of the past engendered hope for 
the future. He now found that God, Whose providential care 
he had so often experienced, was no longer a mere object of 
belief, but a living certainty. Deep thoughts and holy burned 



THE EXILE, ETC. 27 

within his soul, and strength for the future was imparted unto 
him. At this time he wrote the "Yearning after the Invisible," 
in which the joyous feelings of his heart were expressed. But 
with this joy there was also an intermingling of sorrow, for it 
repented him now of many things which he had spoken and 
written in days gone by.* 

In the spring of 1802, he pined for the same seclusion 
from the world which he had enjoyed at Reichenau. He 
resolved, therefore, to withdraw to Aarau, where he could live 
unknown. He could not, however, leave, without entreating 
Reding to assemble the best men of each party, and endeavour 
to settle the differences, acknowledging at the same time the 
difficulty of the task. His efforts were unavailing, as Reding 
looked upon it as impossible. 

With gloomy anticipations he left his friend, and not long- 
after departed for Berne ; Wieland and Kleist accompanying 
him to Aarau. Here he had an aged and valuable friend in 
Father Meyer, who, at his own own expense, sent painters 
around Switzerland. By his assistance he obtained as his 
abode the castle of Robertstein, which was not far from Aarau. 
Here he resolved to await the issue of the political struggles, 
and pursue his researches in geology, botany, &c. The upper 
story of this castle was fitted up for himself and servant. 
About a mile distant from this stood a Church and parsonage, 
where dwelt the venerable priest with his family. A daughter, 
about sixteen years of age, was said to be the most amiable. 
Not many days after his arrival at Aarau, Zschokke went to 
a concert, and there his eye rested upon a beautiful young lady; 
upon inquiry he found that she was the pastor's daughter, and 
he therefore lost no time in returning his call. He saw her then 
in her own home, and left with an unsettled mind. He was 

* He had iit this time a dream, on which he founded his "Alamontade." 
2 d 



28 PRE! AEATORY SKETCH. 

taken with the fair one, and thought of visiting the parsonage 
once or twice a week in a neighbourly manner, and keep 
a strict watch over his conduct when there. At last he 
determined that she should be the sharer of his life. 

In course of time Zschokke married "Annie/' and became 
a happy man — experiencing a heaven upon earth. — Clouds 
might now and then pass over their paradise, but these only 
made the sun brighter. And when to add to his happiness a son 
was born, the whole future was presented to him in a new light. 
Henceforth the course of his life was calm and tranquil. In 
1804, he recommenced his "Swiss Messenger," in weekly 
numbers ; a periodical which was continued for thirty years. 

Written in a simple style, and adapted to the wants and 
information of the people, it soon obtained an extensive 
circulation, wherever the German language was spoken. 

He was now 37 years okl, and in prosperous circumstances, 
possessing a cheerful temper, and happy in the affection of his 
wife and children. One evening, in the year 1807, buried in 
thoughts he sat in his study. Some newspapers were before 
him, which displeased him not a little. He reflected much 
upon the condition, the spiritual wants and necessities of the 
people, and resolved to make some exertions in their behalf. 
His plans were laid. He determined to write and conceal his 
name. He communicated his designs to the Printer ; and it was 
arranged that the paper should appear at the lowest price which 
would pay for printing and publishing, in order that it might be 
widely circulated. In the beginning of 1808 the first sheet 
of the " Hours of Devotion " appeared, and was continued 
regularly for eight years. From this work the following 
Essays have been selected; and as moral essays, tending to 
raise the character of the people, and to bring before us 
important truths for daily practise, the good they will do, may, 
under God's blessing, be no little. 



THE EXILE, ETC. 29 

Having traced the stirring events of Zscbokke's life to 
this period— we must stop. His faults and failings we need 
not point out— as each reader will judge for himself. It 
remains, therefore, only to add, that he still lives, honoured 
by all for the strict integrity he has ever maintained, 
enjoying a happy old age, and looking forward with hope to 
the period of his final dissolution.* 



* Since this work was in the press, a translation of the Autobiography has appeared,— 
Those, therefore, who may feel interested in our Author's life, would do well to purchase it. 



ESSAYS. 



FAMILY WORSHIP. 

EPHESIANS, V. 15, 21. 



God most sublime I Whom thousand nations own, 
To sing Thy glory, worms of earth essay: 

Suns run their courses round Thy dazzling throne ; 
Before Thee, heav'n-bom seraphs fall and pray: 

My lowly cot I dedicate to Thee — 

Thy Sanctuary, Lord, and Temple it shall be. 

Thy presence roimd it sheds an untold light ; 

With Thee who dwells, Thy priest indeed is he; 
And from the heart, as from an Altar, bright 

Bums the clear flame of Worship, pure and free; 
And he foretastes the happiness of heaven, 
Whose every moment is unto Thy service given. 



It is a touching and a lieart-clieering sight, to stand in the 
midst of a pious family, when they hold converse with the 
most holy and sublime which this world contains, namely, with 
the Deity. Who, unmoyed, can see the tear which quivers 
in the heaven-ward turned eye of the mother, ^yhen she prays 
for the life, health, innocence, and prosperity of her dear 
children? Who can remain indifferent, when the venerable 
father, surrounded by the inmates of his house, uncovers his 
head; and then, praying for the happiness of his family, turns 
to the King of Kings, the Almighty God? In whose breast 
thrills not the most delightful of all emotions, when an 
innocent, blooming child, with clasped hands, stammers forth 
to the Invisible, Eternal Father, a prayer for its parents, its 
brothers, sisters, and play-fellows? 

Heretofore, — who will, who can gainsay it? — there was 
to be found in the house of the prince, and the citizen, more 
Family Worship than at present exists. Nor, further, can it 

B 



FAMILY WOESHIP. 



be denied, that there existed more manly vigor, probity, and 
magnanimity; in their daily life, there was less trifling, less 
levity, less odious deceit, less disgusting selfishness; but 
there was more peaceful, domestic happiness, a more joyous 
temper, and a purer taste for great and generally useful pursuits. 

With the so-styled refinement of manners, the beautiful 
ancestral feeling of religion disappeared in many families: 
reckless dissipations were chosen instead of the genuine 
enjoyments of life. Happiness was hunted after from without, 
and they had already lost it from within their own breasts. By 
indiscreet conduct, they wished to give proof of a certain 
greatness of soul; and they disdained, in public at least, to 
disclose their religious feelings. They were not ashamed to 
have been present at some indecorous, dissolute party, yet 
they were so, to have been seen in the Temple of God; they 
were not ashamed to have read dangerous books, contaminating 
alike both body and soul, yet they were so, if they were 
discovered reading some work on devotion, some moral treatise, 
or the Holy Scriptures. Thus, many a heart gradually 
went astray, when all the while it thought it was ennobling 
itself; it yearned for converse with the great and the noble, 
but it seemed ashamed of its converse with God; it attached 
itself to things, to which the irrational animal also attaches 
itself, and forgot that man is, likewise, a citizen of the land of 
Spirits, and ennobles himself only by union with God, the 
mightiest of all. 

But the levity and immorality of many a father of a 
household, and the folly of many a mother, have, meanwhile, 
blasted the happiness, peace, and prosperity of respectable 
families. Many must cautiously return to the simple diet of 
their fathers: oh, that they would likewise return to their 
virtues ! 

And moreover, Family Worship, which has been 
forgotten by so many, will be then again restored to the circle 



FAMILY AVORSHTP. 



of good families, and will diffuse domestic happiness, afford 
consolation in misfortunes, and shed a joyous spirit over the 
laboi*s of every day. 

True indeed it is, that Public Worship in the Temple of 
God has its own great value; but how soon does it frequently 
become a mere matter of form, because the heart, which at no 
other times is employed wdth the Most High, at length waxes 
cold amid the distractions of every day life! The beauteous 
impressions which a pious discourse has implanted in our 
minds, how soon do they vanish ! How soon are the most holy 
vows, and the tears that accompanied them, forgotten, when 
again we leave the Church and return to our old duties and 
occupations, as though it were to another world, and when we 
cannot reflect during the whole of a long week! What! 

SHOULD WE BE CHRISTIANS ONLY ON SUNDAYS? Is NOT 
EVERY DAY OF THE W^EEK God's DAY, A HOLY DAY? 

But, when we speak of Family Worship, we carefully 
avoid every misunderstanding and every false interpretation. 
No design is, or shall ever be thereby entertained, for the 
formation of greater or lesser congregations of different 
families, who in common celebrate Domestic Worship. For, 
although such congregations are, in themselves, by no means 
reprehensible or illegal, still, very frequently, they are 
attended with bad consequences to the civil community, 
which, as a Christian, the citizen is bound to avoid. 

The Christian must honour the relationships of civil life, 
and spare the judgment and feelings of those with whom he 
is obliged to come in contact. Never will the world — never 
will the most untutored person find the worship of God 
offensive; but they may, the manner in which it is celebrated. 
Whatever is unusual, whatever is extravagant, will attract 
attention, and oftentimes give offence. Christian humility 
will not give vent to her feelings in the presence of every one. 
Lonely she stands in some retired corner of the Temple, 

B 2 



4 FAMILY WOESHIP. 

whilst the Pharisee attracts attention by his prayer at the 
corner of the street. (Matt. vi. 6.) 

But, on the other hand, how beautiful! how guileless! 
how free from every reproach, is the daily service in the more 
narrow circle of each single family! Here, the father of the 
house — here, the pious mother, are the priest and priestess of 
the Most High; and the same room in which we enjoy the 
gifts of the Eternal Father — the same room which witnesses 
our tears and our joyous hours — the same room in which we 
have experienced the change of sickness and health, and 
which, perhaps, shall hereafter contain our death-bed: that 
room will become a Tp:mple of the Most High. 

Here the small congregation, united by the most holy 
ties of blood, meets, after the sweet sleep of night has 
refreshed their limbs. At the golden hour of morn, they 
offer up, in silent prayer, the sacrifice of their thanks to the 
kind Creator; or, pleased with the labors of the day, which 
they have completed, and wanting rest, they assemble again at 
eventide. Their last thought is turned to the sublime Guardian 
of their own existence; and whilst in the night-enshrouded 
heaven thousands of distant suns, as glittering stars, proclaim 
the splendor of God, and whilst His holy name is, perhaps, 
being worshipped in thousand to us unknown lands, our 
prayer, likewise, ascends to Him through the stillness of 
night, and He heab,s it! 

These hours of devotion tell effectively on the heart of 
even the infant child, so that it witnesses them. It knows, as 
yet, no higher commanders than its parents, and them it sees 
filled with humble veneration at the name of the Invisible 
God, The same veneration penetrates its heart, and the 
power of example implants religious feelings in its breast, 
even before its intellect is capable of accounting for the 
emotions which are excited within it. Let, therefore, infants 
be early accustomed to Outward Devotion during prayer. 



FAMILY WORSHIP. O 

For it is an address to the Invisible Creator and Preserver of 
all life. The child may not, perhaps, as yet comprehend the 
contents of the prayer, but it may comprehend the feeling 
which the reverential posture expresses. At first, you can 
work upon the tender mind of the child only by outward and 
tangible objects. It will, however, already know the sweet 
feelings of love to God, when its afterward awakening 
intellect first learns the causes and the importance of the 
relio-ion of Jesus Christ. 

If prayer is to operate fruitfully on the heart, let not the 
very same prayer be repeated on each and every day. It 
must never become the mere sport of memory, but it must 
spring from the heart, and from a full consciousness. But 
what the memory hath once seized upon, that the lips can 
easily repeat, without the spirit being present with it. 

What! is it not mocking God, when you address Him 
without thinking of Him? Devotion vanishes, when the 
mind is distracted; and distraction of mind oftentimes takes 
place against our will, when the spirit is not drawn to 
reflection and attention. Rather a single heartfelt thought on 
God — rather a mute sob — than a careless prayer. 

If the father or mother be not at all times able or 
inclined to speak a prayer from the bottom of the heart, in the 
manner that the emotions they feel at the time would lead them 
to do, then there is no lack of excellent prayer-books, 
written by worthy, pious, and intelligent men. These, by the 
vigorous energy of their thoughts, facilitate and beautify our 
devotions. Their feelings become our feelings — their thoughts 
our thoughts. Common prayer in the circle of our relations, 
and the inmates of our house, leaves a fine vibration in the 
soul. And besides this, each one of us will, likewise, in 
solitude, offer many a silent petition to the All-wise God, who 
knows the state of our heart and its affairs. 



Q FAMILY WORSHIP. 

Hence, just for the same reason, it is deliglitfiil, when 
pious mothers begin early to teach their children, to offer to 
God a few words of prayer from the heart — not indeed 
some one speech learnt by rote, but the expression of 
INDIVIDUAL FEELING. Nothing can be more touching to a 
mother or a father, than when their child, at eventide, stammers 
forth only a single prayer to God, and, with clasped hands, 
speaks, be it only a few words, to its Heavenly Father. 

But not only to prayer is the Domestic Worship of 
Christian families confined; there are innumerable occasions, 
when, in lovely simplicity, devotion to God may be exercised^ 
It is not requisite, that one should constantly and on 
every occasion carry in one's mouth the name of God. This 
saying of "Lord, Lord!" will, like every thing else, become 
eventually a mere matter of custom, which is always injurious. 
During our work, we should be solely given to our work; in 
pursuing our business and occupations within and without the 
house, Ave should be solely given to them; but during prayer, 
we should be solely intent upon prayer. Human comprehension 
is too contracted; it cannot divide itself in one and the same 
moment, and whilst it is occupied with domestic affairs, it 
cannot dedicate itself to heavenly themes. ? 

The constant carrying in the mouth of the divine name, 
is, to a certain extent, a profanation of it. Tender-minded 
Christians are accustomed to avoid this habit, just as much 
as the Jews, on their side, hold the name of Jehovah far 
too holy to be desecrated, by its being pronounced by earthly 
lips. Hence, instead of praising Him as God, we praise Him 
as Nature, or Eternal Providence. And under the appellation 
of Nature, Providence, Destiny, or Fate, whom do we design 
but God? 

When the bells of death toll the muffled knell, and the 
corpse of a neighbour is carried past our dwelling, the pious 



FAMILY AVORSHIF. 7 

husband clasps the hand of his pious wife with sad prescience, 
and the thought of Eternity more vividly presents itself to 
them. Their faith, their hope, are raised to the All-ruling 
Providence. — Here is Domestic Devotion! 

Spring scatters a thousand blossoms over the world — the 
larks sing high above the clouds, the nightingales in thickly- 
leaved shrubs — and a Avonderful brilliancy shines over the whole 
landscape. The delighted father points out to the listening 
son, the wonders of creation, and shows him the traces of the 
wisdom of the Most High, and how beautifully every thing in 
nature is arranged. A joyous and holy feeling, in admiration 
of these wonders, at this moment thrills through their souls, 
moved by the works of the Almighty. — Behold here Domestic 
Worship ! 

How many a lonely hour of seclusion is there that a family 
enjoys! Delightful, indeed, it is, to sweeten them with lively 
conversation; but more delightful still, to employ them, at 
times, on higher and more serious subjects. Some good Prayer- 
book, some edifying work, written for the improvement of the 
heart and the amendment of our morals, or passages of Holy 
Writ, intelligible to all, or else the psalms of the royal poet, or 
one of the events of the life of Jesus Christ, are read. The 
listening family crowds round the reader; the hearts of all 
become zealously ajffected; the understanding of each enlightened ; 
virtue appears in all its beauty, and foolishness in all its folly. 
Whilst we hear and learn, we become better, and in heart 
come nearer the Deity. — Here is Domestic Worship! 

These few examples show, how many inducements there 
are to Domestic Worship. But, because such is the case, it is 
not necessary to be always admonishing, teaching, and edifying; 
and to be always encouraging to good deeds. These themes 
may become wearisome, through monotony and excess. No, 
oh! father. No, oh! mother, to whom religion and the love of 
God are dear, the finest doctrine, the most effective sermon in 



S tAMIlY WOKSillP* 

every hour, is, — Your course of life. Your example will 
be more powerful than your words j your deeds more beneficial 
than your doctrine. (Coloss. iii. 17.) 

The industrious, order-loving, tender father; the faithful, 
careful, smilingly-stern mother j the obedient and noble-minded 
children; the diligent and trust-worthy servants; these are the 
constant priests and priestesses of God. Their whole walk in 
life is guileless and righteous, and evidences the fruits of 
inward veneration of God. The devotion of their souls shines 
from their deeds, as from a mirror. Whilst in other men, the 
holy emotions which Public Worship on Sundays has excited, 
have long since been dispersed in the tumults of life, they 
are cherished in our minds, by means of quiet Domestic 
Devotion. When other persons, through levity, again forget 
even those great determinations and noble resolves which they 
formed in the midst of misfortunes, these are carried out in 
our minds, through the quiet worship of God. 

Domestic Worship works on all souls, with gentle yet 
sublime power. This it is, that assigns to us the proper 
stations which we should fill in this world; by it w^e are 
brougcht as much into connection with the affairs and events of 
this life, as we are with the hopes of Eternity. When we turn 
ourselves to our God, we appear before Him no longer as 
STRANGERS, but as CPiiLDREN, who assemble daily round 
their father. 

By the worship of God, which we celebrate either in 
the midst of our relations, or in solitude, we feel ourselves 
stronger and better, and more determined on good; we act 
more nobly; we gain more happiness for ourselves and others; 
and we experience the heaven of domestic peace. By greater, 
circumspection, Ave are enabled to avoid those improprieties 
Avhich are easily committed by those who think but seldom of 
rendering account to the Most Holy. An irreproachable 
(conscience produces unspeakable serenity, in a peaceful 



FAMILY 'WORSHIP, U 

ttiind. We enjoy life more clieerfuUy, because we enjoy it 
more purely. 

Yes, my God! my Father! my All! yes, I feel the 
happiness of not being a stranger in Thy sight; I should be 
unable to live a single day, during which I did not think on 
Thee. Not only in the Temple, Jesus Christ, Thy son, prayed, 
but also in the dwellings of His beloved, and in the solitude 
of Gethseraane. Thus also, I, Thy child, will worship Thee 
in my dwelling, as w^ell as in the lonely fields, and adore Thee 
when I am far from my native land. Thy omnipresence 
changes my chamber into a Church. Here, also, I can adore 
Thee, in spirit and in truth. 

To a pious spirit, every thing hallows itself; and where 
Thou art, sin should disappear. Thou abidest with me: how 
should Thy blessed peace not reign in my dwelling ? Could 
I desecrate by sin, that holy chamber in which I often prayed 
devoutly to Thee? On that spot where I prayed, could I 
curse? Or, could I practise deceits and speak falsehoods in 
the place wdiere I appeared before the Judge of thoughts? 
Where I invoked Thy eternal love, could I there indulge the 
abominable outbursts of hatred, envy, calumny, and rage? 

No ! my God, whither could I turn my heart, conscious 
of its guilt — whither my look of shame, had I to blush at 
Thy presence in my own dwelling — in its very inmost recesses? 
Where on earth should it go well with me, if in my 
own cottage, by the sins of my own heart, I had prepared a 
hell for myself? 

Well do I know the rich blessing of Domestic Worship; 
I will be a partaker thereof. By ever being God's, God 
is always my God. 

When I awake, or when I sink to rest, Thou art the 
subject of my thoughts. And when, sooner or later, in the 
very dwelling where I have so often approached Thee in 
prayer, — when, hereafter, I shall for the last time sink to 



10 FAMILY WORSHIP. 

rest — yea, sink to rest in Thy arms, — oh ! my Eternal Father — 
my LAST thoughts shall be on Thee. And when I again awake 
to consciousness in another life, in a happier world than this, 
my FIRST thoughts shall again be on Thee. When there, 
a strange world surrounds me with its splendor — yet there, no 
stranger God will be my God. The loving father to whom my 
spirit has been here attached with filial veneration, will be 
likewise my father there! 



PUBLIC WORSHIP. 

PSALMS, xliii. 3, 4. 



With those who meet before Thy face. 

And crowd within Thy Temple's gate, 
I will be found; my heart shall join 

Thy love, oh ! Lord to celebrate. 
\Vhere pious worshippers their voices raise. 
Devoutly there I'll stammer forth Thy praise; 
And, as with Angel-choirs glad songs I sing, 
The ofiering of my heart to Thee I'll biing. 

In this God-consecrated spot. 

Thy voice of mercy calleth me; 
Jesus 1 Thy blessed word I hear. 

And softly pants my heart for Thee. 
Here, Thee, my Father, Comforter, I find; 
Redeemed by Thee, my God and Saviour kind, 
I sing Thy love, although with humble skill. 
And leai-n submission to Thy holy will 



There exists upon earth, amongst all nations, no single 
religion that is destitute of Puelic Worship, and of those 
solemn ceremonials which are connected with its observance. 
No one, not even the king, nor yet the poorest of the people, 
excludes himself from participation in prayer. 

What! can contempt for, and negligence of. Public 
Worship, meet with approbation amongst Christians, 
amongst those nations who boast that they are the most 
enlightened? Amongst Christians, there can be but some few 
persons who aim at a certain degree of consequence, by not doing 
what millions of their brothers and sisters do. What! 
is our religion less holy, less blessing, than the religion of 
barbarian nations? Are our Churches less capable of arousing 
sublime emotions? 



12 PUBLIC WORSHIP. 

Thou who withdrawest from Public Worship, or 
neglectest it, examine thyself, whether thy reasons are as noble 
and wise as thou thinkest. Is it not the deficiency of 
religious feelings in thy heart, which makes what is sublime, 
holy, and beautiful, appear to thee a dead, empty, and 
superfluous work of custom? Is it not vanity which leads thee 
to wish to appear in the eyes of some people as more enlightened 
and prudent? Is it not ill-timed modesty which restrains thee, 
because thou wish est to be regarded as superior to the common 
people by those who neglect common worship, and to whom 
thou imputest great views? Is it not, in a word, only thy levity, 
or thy inclination to comfort, which thou wouldst desire to 
palliate by objections to the use of Public Worship ? 

Thou sayest, "The sermon does not always edify or 
instruct me — what I can hear in Church, that I already know." 
Be it so; but still, an inefficient orator frequently says useful 
things; and how many a truth, on which thou wouldst not 

HAVE MEDITATED FOR YEARS TO COME, and wllicll is Wcll 

suited to thy circumstances, will be unexpectedly impressed 
upon thy soul, in a serious hour. 

Thou sayest, "I can worship God as well in my own 
house as in the Church." Truly thou canst do it, but is it 
done? Art thou always in a fit frame of mind for it? Do not 
a thousand other domestic attractions keep thee awa"}^? Does 
not thy mind become more easily inclined ^o beauteous 
and kindly feelings, when thou honourest the Father of all — 
the Most High — in common with thy fellow-citizens. 

Thou sayest, "Were I again to go to Church, men would 
smile, and regard me as a hypocrite." Then thy vanity alone 
witholds thee from the fulfilment of a pious duty? A duty, 
I say, the performance of which is due to the fellow-citizens, 
among whom thou dwellest. But, let it be granted that 
thou art more learned; granted that thou art richer in 
knowledge than they, so that thou couldst learn but little new 



PUBLIC AVOESHIP. 13 

in Church; why dost thou set — if thou believest'^that there are 
persons who look up to thee and value thee — why dost thou 
set, to the more ignorant and untutored, the first bad example, 
by which they often lose this, to them, the only opportunity 
of improving their heart? Dost not thou thyself blame him 
who would weaken the majesty of governments and laws, 
without which no security or peace could exist in the land? 
Why blamest not thou thyself, who weakenest the majesty of 
Public Wouship, without which, the people must relapse 
into unbridled ignorance ? 

Sunday is, to all Christians, a holy day. A thousand 
nations in a thousand different languages worship God, and 
pray before His throne j but thou alone standest apart, as if 
thou didst not belong to the great and holy family. Excluded 
from the community of thy brethren, no one participates in thy 
secluded wanderings, except the wild Indian, who as yet knows 
no God, and hunts after his food and his pleasures, whilst 
millions of beings are, in the same hour, worshipping the 
Eternal in the dust. 

When the solemn tolling of the bells sounded from the 
steeples of the Temples, did they not often with brazen tongues 
speak admonishingly to thy heart? And was it not often like 
a call unto thee: "Why dost thou exclude thyself from the 
communion of Christians?" 

When thine eye wanders casually through the twilight of 
the Temple, and sees in the distance the lonely font, where 
once, an infant, thou didst receive the consecration of 
Christianity; when thou seest the space before the Altar, where 
thou, for the first time, didst enter with pious emotions into 
the congregation of Christians, and didst partake of the 
remembrance-feast of thy divine Master and Saviour; when 
thou seest the holy place where thou didst once stand in 
that important and trying moment, when, in the sight of heaven, 



14 



PUBLIC WORSHIP. 



a wife was affianced with thee, as a companion for life — does 
not all this — does not this make the Temple holier to thee? 

Unhappy thou! if these things move thee not, then my 
Words are spoken in vain. A feeling heart, man's finest 
treasure, has been the price thou hast paid for thy enlightenment; 
and with thy enlightenment, thy nobler feelings have died. 

The celebration of Sunday, is an instituton as venerable 
as Christianity itself The Turk hallows Friday; the Jew 
celebrates Saturday; the Christian solemnizes on Sunday, a 
feast, by which the sublimity of his religion was victoriously 
confirmed: the Resurrection of Jesus. 

Sunday is the day of the LoeD; that is to say, it is 
to all nations, a day of cessation from worldly employments 
and avocations, that the soul may be raised from all the 
grovelling cares of this life to the source of its creation, 
the Deity, and may be led to the contemplation of its Eternal 
destiny. The plough-share of the husbandman is at rest, 
the work-shops are quiet, and the schools are closed. 
Men of every grade and every age shake off the dust of tlie 
week-days, and lay out their holiday clothes. However 
insignificant, indeed, may be these outward marks of respect 
for the day of the Lord, they, nevertheless, work with great 
power upon the spirit of man. His inward self becomes 
holier and happier. He feels more inclined for quiet 
self-contemplation; and even his recreations, after the anxieties 
of the week, lead him to God. 

Allow Sundays and Public Worship to vanish from 
the face of the world, and within a few years, you will live to 
see the utter degradation of all nations; weighed down by 
the cares of this life, and by avarice perpetually spurred on 
to exertion, man would but seldom find a moment which would 
allow him seriously to reflect on his higher destination. 
Henceforth, no one thing will excite him to live for his better 



PUBLIC WORSHIP. 15 

self, and the object of his immortality j he will live but for 
the fleeting day of earth. He will act neither nobly nor 
magnanimously from love to God, nor justly from fear of the 
Avenger; his religion will then be but clever cunning, his 
heaven but satisfied self-interest. 

The transactions of the week-day distract the mind; 
Sunday again composes it. The cares of this life are 
changed into anxieties for the soul. All is quiet; all rests; 
the portals of the Temple alone stand open. 

And even if the heart were not inclined to thought, 
nevertheless, it would be swept alois-g by the mild 

INPLUENCE OF EXAMPLE IN THE LAKGE COXGREGATIOX OF 

Christians. We see collected around us, hundreds and 
thousands, with whom we live in one and the same place; 
with whom we conjointly bear gladness and sorrow, the 
common weal and common woe of the country; we see 
around us, those who will, sooner or later, accompany our 
coffin to the grave, and who will shed the tears of friendship 
for us. 

We stand there among them, in the sight of the 
Omnipresent, as members of one large family. Here 
we are no longer divided by those things which separate us in 
civil life; the high is the neighbour of the low; the poor man 
stands and prays by the side of the rich; as by God, neither 
the station nor appearance of man is respected, neither is it 
here, in the congregation of His family. Here, all of us are 
simply children of the Eternal Father. 

It is because Public Worship so vividly pictures to 
our mind the original equality of mortals, that higher 
thoughts already elevate the soul of the Christian. It 
speaks of humility to the proud, of courage to the oppressed. 
No other human institution effects this, the Church only, 
and some day or other, death brings mortals back to equality 
before God. 



16 



PUBLIC WORSHIP. 



But, finally, if the sight of a praying multitude — if the 
thousands who appear before God with thousand different 
concerns at heart — if these cannot wean ihee to devotion; if 
the solemn song which ascends to heaven from the holy lips 
of a whole congregation, cannot, as yet, compose thy distracted 
mind; then think, that on this day, at this very hour, every 
adorer of Jesus on the wide expanse of the earth lies prostrate 
before his God; think, that innumerable nations are praying 
together with thee; think, that princes have descended from 
their thrones, and, in the full consciousness of their mortality, 
humble themselves before the majesty of the Almighty; think, 
that wherever a Christian ship floats over the waves of distant 
seas, thence, also, arise from the deep ocean, holy song and 
prayer to God. What ! and shouldst thou alone be silent to-day ? 
Canst not thou chime in with the hallelujahs of the whole earth ? 

Think, that on that very spot where thou now standest in 
the Church, there thy grandchildren and descendants may 
stand and pray, when thou art no more — and here, likewise, 
they will still think of thee ! It may be, the tear of a faithful 
son, or of an affectionate daughter, or of a dear brother, or a 
loving sister, may hereafter bedew that spot where thy foot 
now resteth, when the memory of thee grows fresher in their 
hearts. Surrounded by such great examples, canst thou 
remain indifferent in the Temple of God ? 

Think, whilst thy eye wanders over that devout 
congregation, where thou seest side by side, the aged and the 
young; the features of the invalid, and the face of blooming 
health; the sternness of the man of business, and the merry 
face of youth; the sad countenance of the care-worn, and the 
smiling eyes of the contented; think, that in a hundred 
years all these blooming and fading forms will have passed 
away from the world, and that quite different forms, amongst 
whom, thou likewise wilt not be, will constitute these rows, — 
Thou, too^ wilt be no more ! 



PUBLIC WORSHIP. 17 

Seized by reflections of such a nature, thou wilt 
involuntarily be led to the sublime object for the attainment 
of which Public Worship was originally instituted. Say 
no longer: "In my lonely chamber I can just as well adore 
God; what need is there that I frequent Church?" No! 
God's own dedicated Temple alone can afford thee these 
feelings, this inspiration. 

But here the divine word is spoken to thee from lofty 
place. Admonitions, and passages from a holy life, make 
an impression on thy heart, and the secrets of religion are 
recalled to thy mind. But be it granted, that the sermons 
are not always adapted to the present wants of thy soul, and, 
that thou art not so much edified by this or that sermon as 
thou couldst reasonably desire; yet, remember, it may have 
made an impression on other minds; remember, it may have 
been framed for others; why then shouldst thou be dissatisfied? 
How can it be, that in a mixt congregation, every thing 
shall be equally important to all? There will, likewise, come 
a day, when an address will be spoken to thy soul. 

. If thou art present at a sermon from which thou derivest 
no edification, do thou remember, that thou, nevertheless, 
wast useful by means of the example set to others. Thou 
wast present, and didst not, by evil example in the neglect of 
Public Worship, seduce weaker minds to tread in thy steps. 
They derived edification, instruction, and consolation from 
those pious discourses that were heard by them. Thou wast 
of use to them, and thy example was efficient. 

Art thou, indeed, a hypocrite, because thou hast come to 
Church, without expecting edification from the preaching of 
the divine word? Thou, who hast the good fortune to be 
more enlightened, and better able than others to view the 
sublimity of God in the wonders of creation, thou honourest 
God in His Temple after thy fashion, others after theirs; art 
thou on that account a hypocrite? Does not the mouth of 

c 



18 PUBLIC WOUSHIP. 

infancy stammer fortli its praise to God differently to that of 
experienced old age? Are they hypocrites, because the language 
of the one differs from that of the other? The stammering of 
the child, and the devout sob of the aged, are alike acceptable 
to God. Be not thou ashamed to worship God to the best of 
thy views in their company; and know that worship already 
exists, when, by the charm of thy example, thou wooest others 
to it; others, whose powers of mind are not so great as thine; 
others who look up to thee, and who are ever inclined to 
follow thee, as, for instance, thy children, pupils, and servants. 

Thou already worshippest God, for as much as thou 
retainest the confidence of thy fellow-citizens; without which, 
thou art incapable of doing that amount of good which thou 
performest, and further, wouldst wish to perform. Whoever 
is ashamed to be present at Public Service, forfeits the 
confidence of his fellow-citizens. Of what is the despiser of 
Public Worship ashamed? Is he ashamed of the religion 
of Jesus? or his fellow-citizens and their opinions? The 
former is an abomination, the latter, insulting pride. 

Thou excludest thyself from the holy assemblies of thy 
fellow-citizens, and they deprive thee of their confidence, as a 
despiser of the worship of God. Who is safe with him who 
sets at nought our holiest convictions? Of what, however bad 
it may be, will he eventually be ashamed, who is ashamed of 
the religion of Jesus Christ? Say not: ^^But I worship my 
God in seclusion." Who witnessed thy devotion, who heard 
thy prayers, so that we can believe thee? 

Not only must the short hour of Public Worship, but 
the whole of Sunday, be applied to the ennoblement of 
thy mind. The day of the Lord is a day of rest. Thou 
shouldst lay aside thy usual employments, invigorate thy 
body, and gather fresh strength for thy mind. For so much 
the more powerfully and industriously wilt thou again betake 
thyself to the labors confided to thee. Thou shouldst allow 



PUBLIC WORSHIP. 19 

some recreation to thy servants, that they, in their manner, 
may enjoy their toilsome life. Thou shouldst rest from every 
thing, except from doing good. Ever speed onward, ^t hither the 
pressing wants of thy neighbour call thee to his aid; charity is 
the best worship. He who, on a Sunday, could unfeelingly 
see a brother perish, would mock the sanctity of the day, and 
would stand as a despicable hypocrite, in the eyes of God and 
man. (Luke vi. 1, &c.) 

The cessation from thy regular avocations of the week, 
often gives thee a quiet hour in the circle of thy family. 
Even this hour is necessary for thee. Thou shouldst 
dedicate it to holy reflections, so that thou mayst be 
strengthened in good resolutions for the remainder of the 
week. Repeat, with thy beloved family, the most remarkable 
passages in the sermon which thou hast heard; or take some 
book of devotion, and read words instructive to the heart; or 
let some one read aloud an edifying treatise, some doctrines, 
admonitions from the Bible, or else passages from a holy life. 
(Ephes. V. 19, 20.) 

Thus, truly, the Sunday will be a day of the Lord; that 
is to say, a day truly given to the Lord. These pious 
conversations, will infuse a more serene quiet into thy heart. 
Thou wilt have become a better being, and feel thyself more 
easily consoled in evil times, happier in joyous hours, and 
whenever thou thinkest on thy God, it will ever be with 
increased pleasure. 

By this, however, it is not meant that thou shouldst be 
unceasingly occupied, all Sunday, with pious reflections, and 
that thou shouldst refuse all other enjoyments and pleasure. 
No ! Mortal man has only a certain degree of strength. 

Go hence! and enjoy all lawful amusements, which 
during the week thou must forego because of thy labor, and 
other circumstances. Thou art born to enjoyment, as well as 
the worm. But then, restrain thy better self, when these 

c 2 



20 PUBLIC WORSHIP 

amusements would degenerate into intoxicating excess, prove 
germs of discord, or lead to opportunities for sin, into 
seducing ways, and causes for repentance. Only master thou 
thy levity, command thy rising passions, and thou wilt not 
stain thy soul with sinful amusements, nor pollute the day of 
the Lord. The result of pure devotion is shown in this: that 
our mind, imbued with a holy spirit, tremblingly revolts from 
the enjoyments of base animal pleasures, and wallows not in 
the mire of degrading lusts and passions. 

Never will I sin against God, my Lord, on the day of the 
Lord; never will I dishonour myself, on the day on which I 
went forth to honour God. Not only my words, but all my 
acts and deeds must glorify God; and above all, the high 
festivals of Christianity, the high solemnity of Christmas, of 
Easter, and of Pentecost, must be wholly dedicated in the 
purest devotion to the service of the Lord, and passed in 
Christian piety. 

May Thy Holy Spirit, oh! God, penetrate my heart, 
when I stand in the congregation of Christians, whilst a 
thousand souls sink down in prayer before Thee ! Where can 
we be happier, than when we are with Thee? Where can we 
feel more sensibly Thy majesty and our nothingness, than in 
the place where princes and beggars stand and pray next us, 
and bow themselves before Thee? Where, but in the Temple, 
can all things more strikingly remind us that we mortals are 
but children of one Father, in heaven, to whom we all cry 
Abba! Abba? 

Yea, may the place where my ancestors prayed, and 
where my posterity will again turn to Thee, yea, may that 
place be to me a venerable sanctuary! Oh! that my spirit 
may raise itself in praise to Thee, as often as my foot touches 
that holy spot I Oh! that my soul, on the wings of devotion, 
may soar aloft to Thee, as oft as the pious songs sound; and 
oh ! that it may be filled with the foreboding, that hereafter, 



PUBLIC WOESHIP. 21 

when these songs of praise lost in the distance die away over 
my tomb, I shall be praising and glorifying Thee, Thou 
Eternal God, in more beauteous worlds, singing in the choir 
of higher beings, whose hallelujah presses through the vault 
of heaven. 



THE FATHER, 

1st TIMOTHY, iii. 4, 5. 



Father! who with a Fathers hand, 

Till now hath guided me — 
My lips and heart together raise 

A thankful song to Thee. 

Tis Thine, to give whate'er I have, 

And Thine to take away; 
To Thee— the first great source of life— 

With joy I'll daily pray. 

Wealth, food, and poverty, and clothes. 

Depend upon Thy will; 
From heaven Thou givest unto man. 

Or be it good or ill. 

All! all depends, oh! Lord on Thee- 

Frail man can little do; 
My house will then be well arranged. 

If I've Thy blessing too. 



Before nations, before kings and princes were able to 
form large states by means of the conjunction of many 
thousand families, those families existed, each of them a 
separate state for themselves 5 over which the Father, or at 
his death the oldest relation, acted as the head. After his name 
the whole race or tribe was called. He only transacted and 
managed the affairs of as many as were good and righteous. 
He took a care in their nourishment, protection, and happiness. 
He was the person most venerated in his family; and when 
he commanded, all his adherents gladly obeyed. 

Amongst all nations, the rank of Father has ever been, 
and still remains, a venerable one; up to the present day, 
respect is shown it in all quarters of the world, and amongst 



THE FATHEK. 



23 



all nations. For in every state, it is the first and most natural 
dignity of every citizen. The prince fills it, as well as the 
poorest of his subjects. The laws of all nations impose more 
important rights and duties on the Father, who is to be as a 
king in his own family. Even in the present day, he acts as 
the representative of it; he is the defender of the just; and 
as fostering and maintaining them, he demands obedience at 
their hands. He is respected by the citizens of the state; and, 
in free countries, he has a voice in the legislature, and in the 
election of magistrates. 

This ancient and primeval institution of human society 
will, likewise, last for ever; for it does not simply spring 
from human prudence and invention, but it is the product of 
nature; that is to say, the work of God. Hence, every one 
who is invested with this dignity, should ever be mindful of 
it, and neither thoughtlessly exceed it, nor dishonour it 
through his own imworthiness. 

The man, as long as he is single, is unfettered, and 
troubled about no one but himself. If he has provided for 
his own emergencies, he is free. If he is displeased with his 
station, he leaves it. If he is displeased with his country, 
he exchanges it for another. But different are the relationships 
of a Father. Many new duties fetter him, none of which 
he knew before; but they are duties, in themselves too 
beneficial for him not to undertake them with pleasure. Of 
all his cares, he thinks least of the care for himself; 
his wife, his children, his profession, his fellow-inmates, 
all demand greater attention at his hands. He must be the 
father, the guardian, the protector, the friend, and counsellor 
of the whole of his family. His station, office, employment, 
and profession, will indeed often trouble him, when the 
severity and injustice of his superiors annoy him, or when 
he reaps more vexation and chagrin, than profit from his 
labors. 



24 



THE FATHER. 



V/hat lie would formerly have abandoned in ill humour, 
he now bears patiently, for the sake of his family; he plucks 
the thorns of life, because, perhaps, they may bear some 
few roses for his wife and children. For unless they are 
settled in comfort, prosperity, and honor, he, individually, 
experiences none of these benefits. Were he alone, he might, 
perhaps, forsake the land where injustice reigns, or where war 
renders his property unsafe, or oppressive imposts deprive 
him of the greater part of his profits, for which he has toiled 
with the sweat of his brow, a whole long year. But a glance 
at the helpless state of his family, again weds him to the soil 
of his ungrateful country. He remains faithful to it, and 
gladly sacrifices himself for the sake of his beloved. 

Thus, the Father, from his situation, is held in higher 
esteem than he who is unfettered, unmarried, and childless; the 
state places greater dependance upon the former than the latter, 
who, in cases of emergency, may emigrate, and seek for 
himself another home. In civil life, in order to secure a 
person's being more leniently treated, and involuntarily venerated, 
it is quite sufficient to say, that he is the Father of several 
children, of whom he is the educator and guardian. 

But how often is this sublime social dignity of man 
debased! And, because the most pleasing and tender duties 
are connected with it, it follows, as a matter of course, that 
the greatest degree of obloquy is heaped upon careless and 
bad Fathers. A man may perform indifferently his public 
duties, and pursue his avocations with ineptitude; him we can 
either commiserate or blame with moderation. But from him 
who manages his house badly, who neglects his wife and 
child, and makes them miserable: from such a one human 
nature revolts. He is reckoned among the scum and disgrace 
of society. For if a man know not how to rule his own 
house, how shall he take care of the Church of God? 
(1st Tim. iii. 5.) And how can he expect to possess the 



THE FATHER. 25 

confidence of the magistrates, the adherence of his dependants, 
or the esteem and friendship of his fellow-citizens? He who 
knows not how to rule his own house, to which the holy ties 
of nature should bind him, how can he preside with dignity 
over the institutions which exist in civil and social life ? 

And who is a truly wise and Christian Father? 
It is he who knows how, in his house, to preserve and 
associate order, industry, obedience, simplicity of manners, 
and fear of God, with prudence, love, and firmness. For these 
virtues are the pillars of domestic happiness. And amongst 
these virtues, order holds the first rank. The head of the family 
should regulate and dispose of every thing with proper design. 
It is his duty to have his eye upon all things; not that 
he himself should do every thing, but in order to see that every 
one discharges properly the duty of the office with which he 
has been entrusted. Every inmate of the house must be fully 
aware of the nature of his operations, and strictly answerable 
for their administration. 

When a Christian and prudent Father has well arranged 
his house, each day's work is executed without hinderance, and 
with pleasure. Every one attends to his duties. There is 
need only of friendly caution, or kindly exhortation, to keep the 
whole in full activity. Many commands produce nothing but 
confusion; the blame of many, tends only to moroseness, and 
discourages. 

When order is preserved in the economy of a house, you 
will not find opposition on every possible occasion; 
quarrels about what is and what is not to be done, there will 
be none; nor will you find husband and wife at variance 
about every little matter; and no evil example will be set the 
children. Differences between husband and wife, are the first 
incentives to differences throughout the whole house. For 
seeing that every inmate in private forms his own judgment, it 



m 



THE TATHEil. 



must necessarily follow, that he soon begins to blame. But 
when the servant in private blames, all due respect vanishes. 

The Father, therefore, as a man and a Christian, tends 
carefully the concord of all. He never appears, before his 
servants and children, to be at variance with his wife, 
although their views and opinions may differ. The agreement 
of the parents, preserves inviolable the respect of all, and 
makes dissensions on the part of the others, an offence against 
domestic peace. 

But that the order of the domestic system may be 
properly sustained, the Father, as an example to all, must 
be subservient to all those arrangements and laws of domestic 
discipline which may have been introduced, even if at times 
they annoy him. Every thing must have its proper time and 
place. He seeks not to be an exception. He wishes to be 
neither the only unshackled person, nor the voluntary despot, 
in his house. Silently and gladly all obey him, if he himself 
knows how to obey strictly the domestic laws. 

As head of the family, he looks after its general affairs, 
as well as after his profession. He marks his income, and 
according to it, arranges his expenditure; the state of his 
finances he must ever keep in view, that he may know 
whether there be need for retrenchment, or whether any more 
expensive pleasure may be enjoyed without danger. The 
wife looks after the inward, the husband after the outward 
arrangements of the household; the wife after judicious 
expenditure, the husband after the acquisition of means; the wife 
considers the present, the husband also the future wants of the 
house. It is his duty, above all things, to provide for the 
maintenance of his family, when his wife shall be a widow, 
and his children orphans. His duty it is, to provide for the 
future education and portion of his sons and daughters, if he 
wishes not his peace of heart to be broken, nor the hour of 



THE lATHEK. '11 

cleatli to be embittered, nor the honor of his name to be 
blasted, after his departure from this life. "But," says the 
Holy Scripture, "if any one provide not for his own, and 
specially for those of his own house, he has denied the faith, 
and is worse than an infidel." (1st Tim. v. 8.) 

Hence is derived the next great prop of domestic 
happiness — Industry. Through this alone can be acquired 
the extension of our earthly weal. And our earthly weal — 
not indeed riches nor independence — is the first condition 
without which there can be no pure enjoyment of life, no 
independence. 

Useful activity is necessary, as well for increasing as for 
barely maintaining our possessions. In a well-arranged 
household, there must be no idler. Every one must 
contribute something, be it never so little, to the prosperity of 
all. The most industrious is the most meritorious. He who 
has well performed his day's labor is most satisfied, and 
therefore the most joyful. 

And the soul of all activity in the house is the Father 
of the family. He has the greater duties, the greater troubles; 
he nourishes, cloathes, and educates his family; he pays his 
labourers, and maintains his servants; and when want comes 
on, he must tread the bitter path. But to compensate for 
this, he has the most vivid pleasure when he can, finally, with 
glad look, view his property; and when his conscience can 
tell him: "This is the reward of my exertions; this the result 
of my indefatigable labor." 

He binds his children to useful pursuits, which either in 
themselves will be beneficial to them in later years, or through 
which they can increase the welfare, pleasure, and comfort of 
their co-inmates. Idleness is a disgrace even to the son of a 
prince; laziness leads to the highway of poverty. 

But where there is work, there should also be recreation, 
and cessation from labor. The Christian Father can, indeed, 



28 



THE FATHER. 



for money, buy the labor of his servants j but through the pay 
which he gives them, he cannot buy their love to himself and 
his house. And jei, that only is done v^ell and perfectly, 
which is done with pleasure, and from inclination. Every 
thing else is work done for hire. Hence, a prudent Father 
does not only allow his family gladly permitted pleasures at 
proper intervals, but he likewise shares with them his domestic 
feasts; and now and then, he himself originates, for their 
amusement, some project of pleasure, that they may enjoy their 
lives under his dominion; and that, in later days, they may still 
with pleasure recur to former happy hours, which he schemed 
for them with paternal kindness; and that by his acts and deeds 
they may regard him as a kind of pattern, of the manner and 
way in which they should rule a family, and render it happy, 
in a truly Christian spirit. 

Only then, when he has acquired the confidence, love, and 
esteem of all, — and how easily, and with what slight means, 
can they be obtained in the domestic circle! — only then, has 
he the right to require strict obedience to his precepts and 
commands. Without obedience, no kingdom, no household 
can exist. 

The outward appearance of devotion may, indeed, 
be easily obtained, but it is not this which bears the fruit of 
happiness. But little is done, where nothing is done but 
merely what is required. Where the servants do their duty^ 
no further than the eyes of the master and mistress can see, 
there is loss of time, negligence, and unfaithfulness. There, 
with the outward appearance of good arrangement, mal- 
administration and extravagance take place; and yet, this cannot 
be set down to the blame of one or the other. Obedience 
must reign, therefore, in no house from a feeling of fear, but 
from one of love. Love only picks up the last crumbs, so 
that nothing may be wasted; the old it keeps new; it causes 
esteem in secret, and keeps away harm and danger, where 



THE FATHEK. 29 

nobody would perceive it. This is true Christian obedience, 
which the Holy Scriptures command every dependant to 
render. This obedience the prudent Father wishes to 
receive from his family. But he likewise well knows, that 
love and esteem cannot be commanded, but must be won 
by his own exertions. For man may, indeed, hire out his 
arms, but his heart remains free. The most powerful on earth 
cannot force the most abject to love and friendship, unless he 
first give love and friendship. 

The first example of obedience in the house, should be 

SHOWN BY THE CHILDREN TO THEIR PARENTS. WoC tO the 

family in which the will of a son or daughter dares to revolt 
against the will of the parents ! And when this offence has 
been committed, to whom must it be attributed? Is it not the 
consequence of bad education? Is it not perhaps the over 
indulgence and excessive tenderness of the mother, or else the 
carelessness of the Father, that must bear the primary blame 
in this misfortune ? 

However many and arduous may be the professional 
duties of the Father, still, the education of his children is 
his holiest duty. And if he himself cannot superintend it 
from hour to hour, still, as a whole, he should watch over it 
with scrutinizing eye. To him they are subservient, and one 
word of his is sufficient to incite them to all that is goodj he 
likewise chasteneth them. Parents! love your children with 
all that becoming tenderness which nature has implanted in 
your breasts, but from the cradle dema:nd strict 
OBEDIENCE. And tlicsc infants will gladly give it, if from the 
cradle you have never allowed them dominion over you; 
if you have never been moved by their tears, childish 
sturdiness, or childish-cunning smile, to do that upon 
which their obstinacy and caprice have been fixed. All the 
disobedience of children arises from the obstinacy of early 
years, which was always satisfied, and never disregarded. 



no 



THE PATHEB. 



When parents evidence weakness, the esteem of their children 
is diminislied, and their power increases. For, too late has 
excessive confidence been repented. Obedience is one of 
those virtues which is acquired more by custom, than by- 
reflection or conviction. 

Many an evil may come upon a house — long illness, 
scarcity, danger by war, persecution and fraud, may blast its 
prosperity; calumny, envy, and spite, may wound the honor 
of its name — but the greatest woe, the greatest pain of heart, 
is caused by a degenerate child. And the first basis of this 
inexpressible evil, is laid by the parents' blameable indulgence 
of the children's disobedience; or what is still worse than all, 
the bad example and weakness of the parents. 

Purity and simplicity of manners must, therefore, be the 
parents' first domestic law. Without them, no peace, no 
blessing, will abide upon a house. What robbers and 
murderers are in a state, that, persons of evil manners are in 
families. They wage war with the happiness of the better 
disposed. 

The Father can strictly demand from others those 
virtues which he himself practices. If he himself be a 
drunkard, how can he reproach him who, through excess, 
makes himself the laughing-stock or abomination of others? 
If he himself be an adulterer, how can he, without pangs of 
conscience, reprove the dissipated habits of his family? 
How can he banish from the threshold of his house the fear of 
jealousy, or how preserve the esteem of his mocking servants, 
if he be himself capricious, quarrelsome, or morose? How 
can he demand cheerful looks from his wife, children, and 
fellow-inmates, when he it is who disturbs their serenity, and 
is often severe and unjust to them from sheer obstinacy? If 
he be himself a spendthrift, and if he love dissipations and 
pleasures more than persevering industry and profitable 
avocations; if he love show, and splendor in equipage and 



THE FATHEK. 31 

clothes, which may waste away his property; if he love 
company and amusements, which may prevent the prudent 
economy of his household; if he be a gambler, who, instead 
of expending the greater part of his property in a profitable 
manner, trusts to blind chance; if he be boastful and proud, 
in order to be thought as possessing more, and being of 
greater importance than he really is; — how can he prevent 
his children from following his dangerous example? — how 
hinder his servants from abusing his negligence, defrauding 
him, enriching themselves at his cost, and publicly and privately 
furthering the destruction of his property and his honor? 

Woe to that house, where the head of the family goes 
astray! where the chief is at the same time, the worst of 
its inmates; where he who should maintain the honor of all, is 
the first to tarnish it! There God's blessing abides not; there 
a destructive curse rules. 

Woe! when the Father must, in every quiet moment, 
feel his deep unworthiness, and has but the soul-humiliating 
consolation, that his wife and children are better and nobler 
than himself. Can he long brook the disgrace and sink not 
under it? Must not the feelino; of his disocraceful abandonment 
at last become more painful than the delight is sweet, which 
he derives from his sensuality. 

Simplicity and integrity, a course of life free from blame, 
distinguished by honesty and chastity — these bring heaven to 
the domestic hearth. When the storm rages from without, 
when prosperity begins to totter — if there be but peace in the 
hearts of all who surround the Father — if the virtue of the 
fellow-inmates fail not; then every misfortune will be 
easily borne, and even the greatest evil will be alleviated by 
the thoughts: "We have not merited it by our transgressions! 
This evil is only a messenger of God to our house. We may, 
indeed, become yet poorer in property and possessions, but our 



32 THE FATHEEo 

hearts remain rich in joyous consciousness, rich in confidence 
in God." 

Happy me! I, too, know families in which Thy blessed 
Spirit reigns, which raises itself high above the storms of life. 
I, too, know families, the head of which stands among his 
beloved, as the High Priest of God, blessed on account of the 
offering of virtue, and because he leads to God all those who 
belong to him. 

Piety and tetje fear of God, constant veneration and 
love of the Highest Being, are the consummation of the 
crown of the Christian Father. All his co-inmates see and 
confide in him; he, with them, sees and confides in the Father 
of ^11; he must be the vice-gerent of Christ. (Ephes. v. 23, 
likewise vi. 1.) He thankfully receives all good gifts from 
the Lord, as well as pains and privations; for these also are 
necessary to strengthen our powers, to increase our faith, to 
ennoble our minds, and to admonish us of the frailty of all we 
possess on earth. 

And what can join all the members of a family in closer 
connection, than the same love, the same faith, the same hope 
in the Eternal? What can be more venerable^ than the 
Father in the midst of his family? What can be more 
affecting, yet, at the same time, more comforting, at the 
death-bed of one of the faithful of the social circle, than the 
sad farewell of all to the beloved, as his look is turned to 
heaven, when he says: "We have lost each other but for a 
short time. The hand which has brought us here together, 
which has led us through the darkness of life, has also power 
and love to restore us to each other." 

This is the picture of the Christian Father ! 

With love he reigns, with prudence he rules. Order, 
industry, obedience, simplicity of manners, and fear of God, 
are the protecting guardians of his house, which, by means 



THE FATHER. 33 

of liim, spread joy, prosperity, contentment, and blessing, 
over a circle of good men. 

» And thou, who art thyself a Father, and contemplatest 
this picture, compare thyself with it, and ask thyself: "Hast 
thou been, in the circle of thy fellow-inmates, what thou shouldst 
have been to them, in conformity with thy glorious destiny, and 
as became a prudent man?" Ask thyself: "Hast thou done 
all that lay in thy power for the lasting happiness of thy 
family? They, perhaps, have to thank thee for prosperity, 
property, reputation, knowledge, and so much of morality, 
that their hearts are not entirely evilj but have they a^taste for 
simplicity of manners; a thirst for virtue; that settled inward 
piety that shines from word and deed; which, even after loss 
of every thing else, never allows them to be unhappy; which 
would never allow them to sink, even though thou wert no 
longer watching over them?" Answer thyself! Answer the 
Omniscient Judge! 



THE MOTHER 

TITUS ii. 5. 



Spirit of Wisdom ! give us all 
Divine instruction, through Thy light; 

Grant we may feel our Father near, 
And please our God, and walk aright; 

Faith chaseth from the heart all fears away, 

When needy children to their parent pray. 

Strength to us, Lord, do Thou impart, 

That we from virtue ne'er may stray; 
Just be our lives — aye press we on ! 
But aid us— cheer us on ow way, 
That we may run — from sin and son'ow free- 
Gladly, our course of life, as pleaseth Thee. 



Dost tliou know man's highest worth, and art thou 
acquamted with that which is the most difficult for him 
to perform? 

It is to be self-denying, and to live solely in Jesus 
will, in Jesus' spirit; in tlie Sj)irit of all-comprehending, 
all-pardoning, and all-enduring love. It is to require but 
little for thyself, and to do every thing for the happiness of 
others. It is not to care and exist solely for thyself; but 
rather to exist for the good of others. 

With this sublime sacrifice of self, Jesus lived on earth; 
with this self-devotion for the happiness of others, the 
Apostles sojourned here. What has been possible to all great, 
good, and noble men, is it impossible for thee? 

Many doubt that so noble a self-devotion can actually 
exist in man; they say, that this duty is one which is too 
difficult. But where love exists, there, nothing is difficult. 
And has God ever demanded too much of mortal man? But 



THE MOTHEK. 35 

God demanded this through His son Jesus Christ. '^ Who loves 
me," He said, "let him deny himself, and follow me." 
And to imitate Him, the Son of God, it is not impossible. 

Thou sayest, too much is demanded! Lo! there are 
men, whose avocation, whose sweet employment it is, from a 
feeling of love, to be self-denying, and ceaselessly to work 
and toil for the good of others; to be nothing for themselves, 
every thing for others. 

This, through her station, is the Christian Mother; 
and she will be still more so, through the pious inclination 
of her own heart, if she wishes really to merit the pious, 
beauteous, and venerable name which she bears. 

Day and night she cares; not for herself, but for the 
prosperity of those confided to her. Incessantly she 
works; not for her own individual sustenance, but for the 
weal of her beloved. At night, she sinks, wearied, on her 
pillow, and gathers new strength, not for herself; no! but for 
others. Her husband, her children, her servants, her 
dependants, are to enjoy their lives: for her wearisome life, 
she has no other reward than the sight of those whom she 
makes happy. For that purpose, she saves; for that purpose, 
she bears anxiety; for that purpose, much she denies herself. 

She belongs not to herself. She has united her space of 
happiness and misfortune, to those of a man, who was once 
strange to her. Whatever may be the lot he may purpose for 
her, with that she rests content in this world. If he become 
poor, she shares his poverty; if he be persecuted, guiltless 
she partakes of his sufferings; if he be ill, she waits on him, 
nurses him, and suffers even more than he himself. She is 
nothing for herself, every thing for another. 

She belongs not to herself. She is a Mother. She 
lives for her children; she lives more in them, than in herself. 
With pains and danger, she gave them life; with a thousand 
little sacrifices, she bought their health. When every one 

D 2 



36 THE MOTHER. 

else could sleep, she watched over her beloved infant in the 
quiet hour of night. She tended the sweet child on its bed of 
sickness, and listened to its every breath, and prayed for it in 
solitude. No one knows what she did, no one knows 
what she suffered. Only to God, the All-wise, is it 
known. Gladly she forgets all, when life is again restored to 
her darling child. She charges it not with what she 
suffered. No mortal speaks of it; no one rewards her for it, 
— only Thou, oh! Eternal, Righteous Father, Thou alone 
hast not forgotten her tears, her cares — Thou placest them to 
her account. 

She belongs not to herself. She is a house-wife. She 
has to think for others. And even if she fall sick, she must 
watch over the health of others; even if she must deny 
herself many a little recreation, many a little pleasure, she 
first takes care that her family receive their share, and 
partake of their enjoyment. She is the angel of peace, in the 
house; the visible protective genius of order and happiness. 
She has her eye on the most important matters, as well as the 
most insignificant; there is nothing which she forgets. She 
perceives every thing with that maternal love and care 
which is natural to her. She esteems herself the debtor of all 
others, and believes that she can be never doing enough, 
whilst, notwithstanding, she is the benefactress of each one, 
and whilst painful ingratitude is, often, the only reward 
which she meets with. But ingratitude she forgets; she is 
again happy; and, undisturbed, again carries on her day's 
labor, if, by but a single person, she be rewarded with a 
friendly smile. She demands no reward, nor can any one 
give it her; her heart finds it, in the success of her friendly 
endeavors — finds it, in the happiness of her beloved. 

Thus the Mother, — the Christian Mother, — is this 
beauteous portrait of self-denial, proceeding from love! How 
noble is she, in her simple yet strongly-effective station ! A man 



TH-E MOTHER. 37 

can execute more splendid schemes; through his art and his 
avocation, he can amass riches; in the town, in the country, 
amongst foreign nations, he can gain himself a name; with 
his power, he can, perhaps, make half a world tremble; 
but he cannot spread happiness more immediately, more 
really, and more lastingly, than the good house-wife, whose 
modest deeds, no one notices. 

Oh! heavenly avocation, with a heart full of love, to 
bless, be it but a small part of the world, but a single family! 
Who has done thus much, has done enough for this life. He 
lived in God; he will live with God. 

Thus, as all the prosperity of a house is allied to the 
virtues of the Mother, hence, necessarily, all the evil of a 
family, depends on her faults. The influence of the Mother 
is so great, that we are generally able to come to a right 
decision of the happy or unhappy state of a family, from her 
manner of thinking and acting; so great it is, that one single 
fault of lier's, can, often, darken all her other virtues; so 
great, that her vicious propensities can make a house a hell 
to its inmates; so great, that the blessings of the father vainly 
build up, where the curse of the Mother pulls down. 

Unhappily it is, that this picture of a venerable Mother 
does not apply to every one who bears that name; and, in 
every-day life, we find less happy households than should be 
found, in a nation which recognises the sublime wisdom and 
doctrines of Jesus Christ. It is true, that the fault often lies 
in the unworthiness of the father; but, if the Mother know 
how to preside properly over her dependants and children, 
through love and renewed anxiety, she will sweeten the pangs 
which he causes; she will be the guardian and consoler of 
those whom he oppresses; she will transfer to herself the sufferings 
of all, and she will alone bear them in her heart. Besides, 
the house is not rendered so wretched by the transgressions of 



38 



THE MOTHER. 



the father, as it is by the weaknesses and transgressions of the 
Mother. For she is nearly always present with every one; 
she cannot be eluded; she ever dwells amongst, and works in, 
the most important, as well as the most insignificant affairs of 
the small family. 

In vain is the husband's industry and application, if she 
be pleasure-hunting, vain, splendor-loving, and extravagant; 
when she, in order to satisfy her desires, privately squanders 
with her left hand, what she has been saving with her right; 
when she, indeed, lets the appearance of order be seen in the 
house, that she may shine before others, or, at least, not 
become despicable, but sanctions disorder where the look 
of the stranger cannot pry; or when she cheats the 
stranger, and even her very husband. Hence, come so 
many secret woes of a family, from which all suffer; but 
w^hich they, nevertheless, do not like to acquaint others with. 
Hence, happiness departs from many a family; and want 
is often there, where you are justified in expecting prosperity, 
or, at least, a sufficient dependency. 

In vain are all good purpose, inclination, love, and mirth, 
if the MoTHEn know not, how, by a constant even tenor of 
mind, to preserve and nurture the serenity of all; if her word 
cannot console the afflicted; if her affable look cannot 
reconcile the enraged; if her amiability cannot bring 
more about, than her warmth and passion. It is, indeed, true, 
that the natural irritability and nicer sensations of the female 
race can make passionate ebullitions and ill humor more 
incident to them; but, it is likewise certain, that, for the same 
reason, evil impressions more easily vanish from the heart of 
a woman, and, that she can again quicker exercise command 
over her feelings; it is certain, that a woman can maintain her 
serene frame of mind, if she be pfudent, and determined 
enough, not to wish, obstinately to give herself up to her dark 



THE MOTHEE. 39 

caprice; it is certain, that we are justified in pre-siipposing of 
every capricious, quarrelsome woman, that, in her youth, her 
education had been bad and neglected. 

Severity may often become, and strength suit a man, in 
the pressure of circumstances, and in the warring events of 
life: woman, for conquest, received no other weapon than 
kindness, which leads all; than amiable prudence, which 
knows how to shun all that brings danger; than a loving 
spirit, which will, finally, appease the impetuosity of a 
ruffian. A woman is robbed of those advantages with which 
she has been endowed by nature, when she, weak as she is, 
forcibly endeavours to carry her j^lan by obstinacy; when, 
through a quarrelsome demeanor, she disfigures her gracefulness 
and dignity; and when she wishes to act manly, whilst only 
the dignity of a woman befits her. From the height of her 
innate majesty, she sinks to the depth of mockery or 
contempt; and, through passion and pique, she becomes a 
torment and an object of detestation to otliei*s, and even to 
herself. 

Thus, the Mother, from whose virtues the happiness of 
all the family should spring, through her faults, becomes the 
torment and torture of all, and even through her seemingly 
trifling faults; whilst to bear these, and to bear them every 
day and every hour, or at least to be exposed to them, will, 
at last, become too difficult a matter even for the most patient; 
will, at last, embitter the life of the most amiable. 

Therefore, thou who wouldst wish to belons: to the more 
noble of thy sex, and not to the abject; thou, to whom the 
name of an amiable, a Christian, and a prudent house-wife, 
is, as it ought to be, the most illustrious of all names, enquire: 
is every one as happy as he ought to be, in the domestic circle 
in which thou livest and rulest? And if but one person be 
not so, whose fault is it? Hast thou never given occasion for 
his dissatisfaction? Hast thou done every thins: to wed him 



40 THE MOTHER, 

to his situation? Wast thou, at all times, equally amiable, 
mild, and kind; or wast thou often the despicable tool of thy 
conceits and caprices ? 

Art thou acquainted with the picture of the Christian 
Mother? The divine word renders it thou shalt bk 

DISCREET, CHASTE, A KEEPER AT HOME, GOOD, OBEDIENT TO THY 
HUSBAND, THAT THE WORD OF GoD BE NOT BLASPHEMED. 

(Tit. ii. 5.) Within this little, lies the core of the whole of 
thy duties, the source of all terrestrial happiness, as well as 
the perfection of thy Eternal. 

Discreet shouldst thou be: through the amiability of thy 
life, thou shouldst be, to thy family, an example worthy of 
imitation, of those beauteous virtues which thou wouldst 
admire in others ; the soul of thy family thou shouldst be, but 
thou shouldst be a divine soul I — But, without religion, there 
exists no proper virtue, in the full meaning of the great word, 
but, merely, matters of interest and prudence. — It is piety 
which first infuses into our hearts something more sublime, 
something divine. 

And as, in human society, no one is more despicable 
than a female who, with some superficial knowledge, and a 
little information, wishes to pass off as an enlightened, 
doubting, and free-thinking person; and this, too, rather 
from vanity than from constant experience, or from necessity; 
so a female, without taking into account any other graces, first 
becomes respected and doubly honoured, when, without show, 
without much praying, or hypocrisy and bigotry, she 
thinks, acts, and lives, in a godly, resigned, and religious 
spirit; if she sincerely and gladly confides in the faith which 
Jesus proposes, and in the hopes which He holds out to us. 

Oh! Mother, Mother, remain steadfast in the faith; 
it alone can support thee in the storms of this life; without it, 
thou art valueless to thyself Mother, oh! Mother, early 
implant this simple yet inspiring truth in the tender hearts 



THE MOTHER. 



41 



of thy children; without it, thou wilt, sooner or later, lose 
their hearts ! Mother, be to them the picture of the 
worship of God and His providence, in the Church, as well 
as in the quiet chamber; thus, w^lt thou lead them to God ; 
thus, God w^ill hereafter lead them back to thee. 

Chaste shouldst thou be: a picture of morality and good 
demeanor, in times when beastly sensuality shamelessly shows 
in the markets and streets; in times when fashion is often 
more powerful than innate modesty. Purity of mind is the 
most costly tiara of the wife; where it is once lost, not all the 
splendor of jewels and golden equipage will replace it; — the 
peace of thy house is gone for ever, the content of thy spirit 
incurably wounded, when thou strayest from the path of 
fidelity, which thou swore at the altar. 

It is not sufficient, through prudence, to avoid every 
thing in conversation which may, in never so slight a degree, 
awaken jealousy — that fearful destroyer of domestic happiness. 
It is difficult to exorcise this phantom, where once it has taken 
up its abode. Thou shouldst even avoid appearances, which 
might throw a stain on the purity of thy heart. — Through the 
austerity of thy morality, thou wilt appear, to thy fellow- 
inmates, a venerable, higher being; and more easily, through 
words and doctrine, thou wilt make the most lovely of all 
duties abide in the minds of thy children. 

Homely shouldstthoube;foronly that which thyprovidence 
SAVES, is the true profit of that which the father's industry earns. 
Thy mind keeps all in order; and cleanliness is the most amiable 
substitute for, or else the most graceful attendant of, splendor. 
Who wishes to be instructed in the worth and perfection of 
a Mother, only enters her house, and all that meets his eye, 
tells him what he must think of her. It is not what things 
are there, but how things are, which bear testimony to the 
taste and the understanding of the good hostess; and it is not 



42 THE MOTHER. 

THAT she is obeyed, but how she is obeyed, which speaks of 
the good judgment and excellency of her heart. With dignity 
and serene spirit, she conducts all which belongs to her 
sphere of action. She never loses the just equanimity of 
behaviour towards her domestics, as well as towards 
strangers. Without becoming too intimate, and demeaning 
herself with her servants, (for she never forgets, that whatever 
is to command, must have dignity and respect,) she still 
knows how, through affability, to join and guide the hearts of 
her domestics. Without quarrelling with the servants, blaming 
them, or losing herself in ignoble expressions, she knows how 
to obtain obedience, and sustain the negligent in their duty, by 
the respect with which she inspires them. 

A good house-wife she should be; and, therefore, shed so 
much of grace over the domestic life, that neither the husband 
nor the children shall easily desire strange dissipations, but 
like best to live in the bosom of the family. Every thing is 
possible, to a prudent, clean, obliging Mother, if she treats 
with love all who surround her. 

Therefore should she be good towards all; good towards 
her husband; and avoid all which could interrupt the happy 
friendship and mutual confidence, without which, married 
life becomes a hell. And in order that these hours of love 
and confidence may be most closely woven, it is the surest 
way, to have thy heart ever open to thy husband; to have 
no secrets from him, not even the most innocent; to do 
nothing which thou wouldst have cause to hide from him; and 
even to acknowledge the fault to him, where it has been 
committed; — all this must be done, that his suspicions may 
not be roused, his confidence shaken. — Be his confidence 
once misplaced, and long years of mistrust will follow. Often 
has a little misunderstanding, because they were too timid, 
or too proud mutually to communicate, been the cause of a 



THE MOTHER. 43 

live-long unhappy marriage. For a single false step often 
brings down after it, on both sides, the second, third, and 
one thousandth. 

Good should she be, to the children. Oh! to a Mother's 
heart, love to those whom God has given her, must not be 
suo-crested; but rather, prudence in this love, that it mav not 
degenerate into excessive tenderness, and dangerous indulgence 
of faults; prudence in this love, lest she favour one child more 
than the other, and show greater tenderness to one alone. 
This predeliction for a child, which is, at times, shown in an 
imprudent manner, is an unjust harshness towards the less-loved, 
is the first fault in a child's education; and has, without being 
easily observed, the most dangerous influence on the youthful 
temperament. Often, even very prudent Mothers are weak 
enousfh to commit this error — so much the more carefullv 
must the heart be guarded against it. 

Good should she be, towards the servants; without passion, 
and offending marks of pride and domination. The domineering 
w^oman, who wishes to be recognised as doing and suffering 
all things, soon forfeits her dominion; for every one tries to 
withdraw himself from it, because the feelings and self-esteem 
of each and every one are violated. A domineering woman 
perpetually creates discontent in the house, because every one^ 
instead of love, returns inward dissatisfaction; he, indeed^ 
may obey, in order to maintain public peace, but, in quiet, he 
will do otherwise. For this cause, vain and domineering 
women are, generally, the worst hostesses. They want proper 
judgment, how they should become the soul of the economic 
system. 

Good should she also be, towards those who stand in any 
sort of connection with the family. Her love and friendship 
should conciliate those with her house, who bear some pique 
to any of its individual members. Without love from without, 
how should prosperity and happiness bloom within? It is. 



44 



THE MOTHER. 



therefore, she who is most interested, that there be concord 
between herself and neighbours^ she rather sacrifices some 
trifling things, in order to preserve a greater benefit, and secure 
general esteem and affection for her house. She, therefore, is 
most interested, that the quiet peace of her beloved may not be 
blasted, by scandal and calumny. Much may she hear, in the 
circle of her female friends; but the good alone she remembers, 
and mentions it again. Not always can she withdraw her ear 
from calumniating speeches and malicious remarks, but her 
tongue she can. She wishes the prosperity of her house; 
hence, she would obtain for it, the love of all the world. 

This is the picture of the Christian Mother, as the 
Holy Scripture represents her. Be each one thus; so that the 
word of God may not be blasphemed, but honoured. 



THE ART OF ATTAlNIiNG A HAPPY OLD AGE. 



( PART I. ) 

PROVERBS, iii. 13, 16, 17. 



Tis not for length of daj-s. 
Oh! God I pray to Thee; 
Whate'er it pleaseth Thee to give, 
With thankful heart I will receive— 
Myself I made not— Life Thou gavest me. 

For temper meek and mild, 

When later days draw nigh— 
For pure old age, from murmurings free ; 
For heart that trasteth. Lord, in Thee ; 
To heaven, for these, my prayers shall rise on high. 

Ohl let me early, whilst 
My life is in its spring. 
For the last evening well prepare ; 
Then, when old age's garb I wear. 
To Thee, vdth fire of youth, warm thanks I'll sing. 



We shall find but few who do not desire to live to an 
advanced old age. And when, sometimes, we hear the 
contrary, those very persons who evince the least fear, would 
desire, had they the power, to defer, from year to year, for 
several years longer, the hour of their death. As they grow 
older, they feel it not^ and, perhaps, fancy that they have 
witliiu them, mor« youthful vigor than they may possess. 

The love of life is planted, by the hand of our God, too 
deeply, in the nature of all living creation, for it to be easily 
eradicable. Man only may, sometimes, feel it grow weaker 
within him. But yet, this only happens in passing moments 
of phrenzy, which prostrate his mind. And despair, as well as 
enthusiasm; despondency, as well as ambition; melancholy 
from corporeal weakness, as well as madness, which produce 



46 THE AET OF ATTAINING 

satiety of life, or desire of death, are more or less distracting, 
and rob the mind of its clear ideas. In the most seemingly 
cold-blooded, determined suicides, there is a secret derangement 
of the intellect, a sustentation of the powers of the mind. 

From time immemorial, much has been thought, taught, 
and written, concerning: the art of prolonging human life. 
The desire to keep the grave at a distance from them as long as 
possible, has not, unfrequently, misled mortals into the greatest 
follies. They forgot the simple law of nature, through a 
faithful observance of which, man alone can secure to himself 
a long stay on earth, so far as it depends on himj the law: 
^^Be moderate in all things, without exception, and guard 

AGAINST EXCESS, IN ANY ONE MATTER." lustcad of tllis, they 

sought assistance for prolonging their lives; now in supposed 
powers of magic; now in medicines, which should be suited 
to every thing; now in plants of wonderful power; now in the 
so-called stone of wisdom. 

But it is vain trouble, to wish to secure an advanced old 
age through other means and ways, than by an exact 
observance of the laws of nature; and even the strictest 
observance of these, can give us no confidence in our hopes. 
Man, himself, has the least influence in the longer prolongation 
of his own existence. He can, indeed, earlier sap the foundation 
of life, through immoderate excess, sensuality, and badly 
devised plans; but still, with all prudence, cannot add one 
span to his days. Our life is in the hand of God. The palace 
of death has a thousand gates, by which we pass into his 
power before we have perceived it. 

"Our life lasts seventy years; if it lasts eighty, it is a long 
life," says Moses. Rare are they who much exceed this age. 
As plants and animals have for their existence a certain degree 
of power, so, likewise, has man. The one ends as soon as the 
other is exhausted. He has the hope and the probability of 
living the longest, who has wasted the least of his vital energies. 



A HAPPY OLD AGE. 47 

Concerning the length of man's life, in different places 
and positions, many and curious observations have been made, 
and it has been found, that, generally, the half of all who are 
born, already die before their tenth year; that of the remaining 
half, one-third has already passed away, before the thirtieth 
year; the other third before the fiftieth year; and out of a 
hundred persons, seldom ten, for the most part only six, have 
survived the sixtieth year. 

But then, is advanced age, in itself, so desirable a good, 
that we should eagerly desire it? I scarcely believe it. Take 
a general view of very aged persons, how they have to war 
with the infirmities of old age; how often they are a trouble to 
themselves and others? Their intellectual powers become 
blunted, and dead to the charms of the world. Wherein can 
their joy exist ? They only gladly revert to the pleasure of 
their youthful days. Of these they gladly speak. Dissatisfied 
are they with the present day; gladly they think that, years 
ago, all was better; still, in reality, the good is not so much 
diminished, as is the susceptibility for enjoyment, in aged persons. 
They are sombre, morose, fault-finding, out of humor with every 
thing. There are, it is true, exceptions; yet they are but few. 
Where do we often find aged persons, who have retained their 
youthful warmth for all that is good and beautiful, their kindness 
of disposition towards that which surrounds them, their 
indulgence of faults of the age; in a word, that amiability which 
so much enchants, in the aged. But the scarcity of such persons, 
is less the work of nature, than the self-neglect of man. Thev, 
indeed, sought for an advanced age, but neglected to think of 
a happy one, and to take measures to prepare such a one for 
themselves. And yet, a long life is only then desirable, when 
it is serene and happy. 

The ART OF PBEPARING A SERENE OLD AGE, AND OF ENJOYING 
THE EVENING OF LIFE, IS MUCH LESS KNOWN AND PRACTISED, THAN 

THE ART OF PROLONGING LIFE. Wc, Still, scc many mcn 



48 THE ART OF ATTAINING 

and women of sixty, seventy, and eighty years of age; 
examples, not a few there are, of those who have lived a 
hundred, and a hundred and ten years; true it is, that, in our 
day, there are not so many whose age is a hundred and 
twenty, and a hundred and thirty years; but yet, we are 
acquainted with such, and even with some who have reached 
and survived the hundred and fiftieth. But, in all probability, 
not half of these are blessed with a joyful and happy old 
age. 

Be, therefore, the chief aim of him who wishes to 
prolong his life, and to arrive at an advanced age, to prepare 
for himself a happy old age. Moreover, the later days of our 
existence bring with them much unpleasantness, which lies in 
their nature. They dry up many fountains of pleasure, which 
only play in youth; and we must, therefore, be the more 
intent upon preserving, as life advances, the greatest possible 
grace. Without that, the prolongation of our existence 
would be but the prolongation of our troubles, cares, and 
anxieties. 

"Happy is the man," says Solomon, "that findeth wisdom. 
Length of days is in her right hand; and in her left, riches 
and honor. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and 
all her paths are peace." (Prov. iii. 13, 15, 16.) But the 
wisdom here mentioned, is not a common every day prudence. 
No! she is the fruit of the mind. She is that religious power 
which raises us as well above the fear of death, as above all 
desire for a longer course of life; which, satisfied that every 
thing earthly is but mortal, demands, here as there, nothing 
but a blessed existence. She is the wisdom of Jesus Christ. 
She is life, in its sublime tranquil philosophy, and perfect 
contentment. She is life, fulfilling the commands of God on 
earth. In her alone, lies the foundation of the whole art on 
which a happy and serene old age is raised. The exercise of 
wisdom is the art. 



A HAPPY OLD AGE. 49 

God has, perhaps, destined me for an advanced old age; 
but it will be my fault, if it be full of misery. As fervent as 
are my desires for life, so fervent are my desires for happiness. 
I would on no account wish for the former, were I not also 
allowed to long for the latter. Be it, therefore, my duty, to 
consider that which may be likely to afPord me pleasure and 
enjoyment in mine old age. Our preparations for this, we can 
never commence too soon. The spring and summer sow what 
the autumn is to reap. The transgressions of youth, bring late 
repentance to the aged. Glean in the days of plenty, and 
thou wilt not be compelled to suffer want in the day of scarcity. 

The state of our body, and external circumstances, as 
well as the condition of our mind, must contribute much to 
contentment, at an advanced period of life. 

The BODY is the first firm foundation on which a prolonged 
and enduring state of a happy existence can be raised. A 
sick person cannot enjoy undisturbed serenity, though he be 
prompted by the best wishes of his mind. A deranged and 
weakened state of the soul, frightens and arrests it in its 
effects, overpowers the mind, though it be but for an instant, 
and frustrates the most excellent intentions. 

Therefore, one of the most important cares should be, 

FOR THE PRESERVATION OF LASTING HEALTH. Without it, 

life, in younger years, is painful, and the attainment of old 
age, scarcely to be thought of, and in no case desirable. All 
persons who have lived to an old and advanced age, owe it, 
above all, to moderation in earlier years. In this, lies the 
whole secret of growing old, and of spiritual prosperity. 

But no rules, applicable to every constitution, can be 
laid down, concerning the degree of moderation which man 
should attend to, in regard to his nourishment, exercise, and 
manner of employment. What is insufficient for one, may be 
excess in another. Let no one, therefore, choose the conduct 
and procedures of others, as a touchstone of his mode of 

E 



50 



THE ART OF ATTAI^^ING 



acting, with reference to the tending of his own health. And 
let HIM not adopt the belief: "What does not injure another, 
will not injure mej" but let him prove the whole measure of 
his powers. Every thing which has produced too great 
debility, and, afterwards, disgust; every thing w^hich deprived 
us of that agreeable state in which, whilst we were perfectly 
healthy, we did not feel even our own health; all this was 
hurtful to our well-being. We should live in such a manner, 
that we may constantly preserve a serene habit; inasmuch as 
serenity is the effect of our corporeal state. 

We do not always feel lassitude immediately after our 
enjoyments and occupations. The evil generally follows its 
causes at a distance; and when it does appear, we have already 
partly forgotten them. And the surest way to escape these 
late evils, is to live, in all things, simply, moderately, and in 
strict accordance with the real wants of our nature. 

Do thou, therefore, attentively regard those properties of 
thy inner or outward frame of body, which, through their 
weakness, often warn thee of, or make thee inclined to, 
sickness. If thou art acquainted with them — and thy inward 
feeling and experience will not keep them secret from thee — 
then pay most particular attention to them, and take heed they 
be not still more weakened, by misuse. And, further, ascertain, 
or learn from experienced physicians, what means thou must 
apply, to give, by degrees, greater strength to the weaker 
organs, and to free the debilitated from their danger, without yet 
further spoiling them; esteem no evil, if it be of some duration, 
too insignificant, because, at the present moment, it is not too 
oppressive.— The first germ of death, or tedious suffering, is^ 
often, a trifling neglect. ^ 

Accustom thyself to a regular simple diet. It alone 
has the greatest influence on the preservation of health, and 
the attainment of an advanced age. Gluttony in eating and 
drinking, is the surest step towards the diminution of life. It 



A HAPPY OLD AGE. 51 

is only requisite to weaken the stomach, that important organ 
of digestion, in order to poison the body with venomous 
nauseous juices. Drunkards and epicures, who call it their 
greatest pleasure to tickle the gums with many different meats, 
foreign spices, and enervating potations, have never led a 
lastingly healthy, much less a long life. They are self-poisoners. 

Eating and drinking alone do not contribute to the 
maintenance or strengthening of our powers, but a 
change in the mode of exercising and employing them. In 
youthful and manly years, the body must be hardened, 
by work, exercise, and exertion ; but in later years, 
sustained, by a quiet course of life. Rarely do idlers, 
rarely do persons who learn early to court ease, attain an 
advanced, still less, a healthy old age. But equally 
dangerous is excessive application, where too little quiet 
cannot re-invigorate the enfeebled powers. Daily exercise in 
the open air, is most beneficial for the preservation of health. 
Our breath imperceptibly poisons the air of dwellings, where 
constant exhalations injure the fine nourishment of the body. 
Most diseases arise from the inhalation of dangerous particles; 
and the greatest number of these is, at all times, in rooms, 
especially where a free current of air is too carefully 
prevented, or where the greatest cleanliness is not attended to. 

Cleanliness is not only a pleasing ornament, (for it 
delights us to see it, even in animals,) but it is, likewise, a 
most indispensible requisite for the prolongation of our existence. 
Domestic lavations of the body were, therefore, commanded 
by Moses, as well as by many other law-givers. For we 
breathe in the surrounding air, not only through the nose, 
but also through a number of small and invisible pores in the 
skin, which serve, at the same time, for the exhalation and 
separation of fluids, which can be dispensed with, or are 
injurious to the blood. The cleansing and refreshing of the 
skin, by means of washings and baths; cleanliness of the 

E 2 



52 THE ART OF ATTAINING 

clothes which are worn nearest the body; absence of all filth 
from our dwellings; moderation in food, and simplicity in the 
choice of it; a hardening of the body by labor; enjoyment of 
the healthy open air; proper change between tiring activity 
and strengthening quiet — in no matter excess — a mean road 
in all things: these are the surest means of health to us, in 
old age. 

To the health of the body, must be united the health of 
the soul, — a happy temper. And the best means to obtain 
this, is by contentment with ourselves and our condition, and 
by loading a life free from distressing anxieties produced by 
cares. Learn, in early life, by unwearied assiduity, 
TO ACQUIRE A SUFFICIENCY; then, in old age, thou wilt be 
without anxiety for the maintenance of thyself and thy family. 
Be content with but little, and thou wilt be able, from even a 
small income, to lay by somewhat for the days when thy 
better powers will be unequal to the task of earning any thing. 
Cares for support, must be the most bitter of all, to the aged; 
and the consciousness that they are dependent upon others for 
their maintenance, will disturb even the most cheerful temper. 
A few wants, which we learn moderately to supply in the days 
of our vigor, pave the way for an independent old age, and 
enable us to be the benefactors of our family, even at a time 
when they ought to be our support. 

By this, however, it is not meant that we should, in order 
to be rich, on the eve of our life, suffer want, and pine in our 
youth. But we should not forget, that when we are young, 
pleasure is cheap; and that in age, it can only be acquired by 
that which we have saved; we should not forget, that the 
aged stand in greater need of foreign assistance than either 
the youth or the man; and that, in his prosperity, he looks 
back with greater pleasure upon former abstinence, than, in 
later abstinence, he can look back upon former prosperity. 



A HArrY OLD AGE. 53 

Industry and moderation are not only the best foundations 
of an old age free from troubles and anxieties, but even, in 
themselves, they are the very essence of life in earlier days. 
In the absence of all-oppressive cares, they cause gladness to 
find its home amongst usj and, than this, there is nothing 
which tends more to the preservation of our health. 

Early troubles and early cares, bring early superannuation, 
and exhaustion of the powers of life. 

Oh ! Father of all life, this body which Thou didst give 
to my soul, as its abode, is it not a sanctuary? Should it not 
be Thy Temple? An important duty does it, hence, become 
to me, to care for its inward purity, as well as for the 
outward means which tend to its outward preservation, even 
when, in the course of ever-changing years, it becomes 
enervated. How can the soul attain its high object of 
perfection, when it allows its instrument, the body, to waste 
away, by a course of life at variance with nature? 

But, carried away by their unbridled lusts, I see many 
around me, banded against their own lives j here, now 
immoderate desire for labor, now sensuality, changes into day, 
night sacred to rest; there, the youth dissipates the vigor of 
his health, in the lap of sinful sensualism; here, the glutton 
poisons his blood by insidious meats and spices; there, by violent 
drinks, the drunkard destroys the sensitiveness and power of 
his nerves; here, the wild dance of pleasure-intoxicated 
youth laughingly nips the noblest buds; there, in foolish 
effeminacy, a formerly strong constitution sickens, or, unheeded, 
wastes away in the mire of uncleanliness. What a mass of 
suicides, which are not called so — which wish not to be so — 
which demand length of life, but, like maniacs, diminish it 
themselves, by their own imprudence! How few of these 
attain an old age; and when they attain it, how joyless is it- 
how laden with pains, infirmities, and cares of every sorti 



THE ART OF ATTAINING A HAPPY OLD AGE. 



( PAKT II. ) 

PROVERBS, iii. 13, 16, 17. 



Boldness is' his, (whoe'er he be,) 
"Who lives from sin's enthraknent free; 
Though rude the storm— he knows no fear, 
God's saving hand, he feels, is near. 

The pure God-consecrated mind, 

Reward of holiness will find; 

Virtue doth, to the aged, bring 

The joys that charmed sweet childhood's spring. 



To amass fortunes, and then to nurse one's health, in 
order to enjoy them for a good length of time, appears to 
man, generally, the most important, and most difficult of objects. 

But it is neither the most important nor the most difficult. 
By industry and frugality, our fortunes may be, eventually, 
improved^ contentment is satisfied with little. Some degree of 
attention to ourselves, preserves health. And yet, this secures 
to us neither an advanced age, nor happiness in it. For there are 
more subtle poisons — (we receive them neither in our food nor 
by inhalation) — which so imperceptibly and early destroy the 
vital powers of the most healthy, that all nursing is in vain. 
The greatest wealth, also, gives no security for happy days at 
an advanced period of life, when we ourselves introduce into 
it the greatest obstacles to happiness. To avoid these poisons — 
these obstacles — this is the most important; but, likewise, the 
most difficult. 

But among these subtle poisons, must be ranked feelings 
and inclinations that are too powerful; all manners of vice 
which govern our mind, and which, unchecked, cause 



A HArrY OLD AGE. 55 

disquiet. Therefore saith Holy Writ: "A merry heart doeth 
good, like a medicine; but a broken spirit drieth the bones." 
(Prov. xvii. 22.) 

He who strives after a long and pleasant term of life, 
must seek to maintain continual equanimity, and carefully to 
avoid every thing which too violently taxes his feelings. 
Nothing more c[uickly consumes the vigor of life, than 
the violence of the emotions of the mind. We know 
that anxiety and cares can destroy the healthiest body; we 
know that fright and fear, yea, even excess of joy, become 
deadly. They who are naturally cool, and of a quiet turn of 
mind, upon whom nothing can make too powerful an 
impression; who are not wont to be excited, either by great 
sorrow, or great joy, have the best chance of living long 
and happy, after their manner. 

Preserve, therefore, under all circumstances, a 
composure of mind which no happiness, no misfortune, 
CAN TOO MUCH DISTURB. Lovc nothing too violently — hate 
nothing too passionately — fear nothing too strongly. For still, 
eventually, every thing which befalls thee, the good as well as 
the bad, deserves neither immoderate love nor immoderate hatred; 
and already, on many occasions, hast thou perceived, though 
truly, often too late, that thou hast placed too high a value on 
those things which passionately charmed, or pained thee. 

But it is, indeed, difficult to remain always the same, 
happen what may. Whoever has not already received, from 
nature, a certain indifference of feeling, and a certain apathy, 
which screens him from the power of his passions, will 
have trouble in supplying that which is wanting. But 
impossible it is not. The will of the mind, has an extraordinary 
power over the body, and over all the movements of the soul. 
A fixed determination not to allow one's self to be too much 
distracted by any thing, and to maintain, in all joyous or 
unpleasant circumstances, a temper as calm and settled as 



56 THE AET OF ATTAINING 

possible, will, eventually, so change our inward self, that 
what was at first a matter of consideration, becomes our 
second nature. And so charming an object as an advanced 
and happy age, certainly deserves that we should fear no 
exertions, however difiicult they may at first appear to us. 

In this self-command, we must early school 
OURSELVES. Every lost day makes the combat more difficult. 
In our domestic life, and in our daily occupations, we shall 
find the commencement of this practice to be easiest. Let 
every one, at the same time, see the possibility of the loss of 
that which he loves, and think: "Now when it will be lost to 
thee, how wilt thou act, not to lose still more, namely, thy own 
serenity of mind — thy own health?" Such a quiet preparation, 
renders an afterward occurring loss more easily to be borne. 
Unexpected misfortune is always the greatest. On every 
occasion for vexation and anger, think: "Is that which at 
present makes thee ill at peace, worth, in reality, so much, 
that thou shouldst waste on it, be it only a part of thy health, or 
even the joys of half an hour?" And even if thou art compelled 
to express dissatisfaction or disapprobation of others, on 
account of their actions, be guarded from doing this in a 
really irritated and angry manner. Every one knows, that 
no punishment makes greater impression than that which is 
coupled with cool determination. 

There are men, who, from a curious sort of ambition, 
and to give themselves an air, and produce a greater 
sensation, are studiously enraged, and passionate on every 
occasion. What at first is but artful temper, in course of 
time, changes into custom. These are the most foolish of 
all self-murderers; they poison their health, and mar the 
enjoyment of their life. 

There are others, who even enfeeble themselves, by 
means of their temper; who indulge their little whims; who, 
willingly, appear more unhappy than they are; who gladly 



A HAPPY OLD AGE. 57 

complain, that they may be pitied; who, when they are in ill 
humor, avail themselves of every pretence for studiously 
annoying themselves still more, and avoiding all that may 
gladden and divert them. These fools zealously dig their 
early grave; and if, perchance, they cannot speedily enough 
weaken their natural health, they will have a troublesome and 
sere old age, whilst, continually morose, they must become 
disagreeable to every one. For what, at first, they were 
merely from affectation and dissimulation, that they will, at 
last, really become by practise. 

If thou, in truth, desirest to appear somewhat different 
to what thou art, then appear moee joyous and serene 
THAN thou art. Artfully transpose thyself into a happy 
frame of mind; observe what is unpleasant, looking any way 
at its bright side; arouse within thy breast pleasing thoughts 
upon every thing; and when any thing is likely to affect thee 
too much, then quickly seek distraction, in some profitable 
way. Let that serene light spirit of childhood come to thee, 
which sacrifices to every evil but a passing tear, and quickly 
again returns to joy. In a few years, the pleasant spirit and 
equanimity of mind, which was at first assumed, will 
become a custom, and finally, thy nature. And this is the 
victory, in thee, of the mind, over the mournful power of 
earthly things; 'tis the way to a serene old age! It lies in 
man's own power, how much or how little vexation and 
trouble he will suffer; or how great or how small a part he 
will bear, in evils that are incident to all. Now he who suffers 
least, is he not the happiest? If thou hast early accustomed 
thyself to meet what is unpleasant with imperturbable serenity, 
thou wilt, hereafter, laugh away the infirmities of old age. 

But this gladness and equanimity, nevertheless, make 
thee not only happier in imagination, but, in reality, 
more perfect. Whilst others, placed in distressing and painful 
lose their sanity, and make the evil, by the 



58 THE ABT or ATTAINING 

manner in which they take it, worse than it really is : thou, by 
far more capable of calm reflection, wilt be, more readily, able 
to find and employ the remedies that are best suited to the 
occasion, and to lessen the consequences of the evil, which can 
not again be undone. Whilst others, irritable, unstable, and 
changing, allow surrounding matters to go on as they will, 
and, by their caprice and unbridled vices, even make a thing 
still worse than it really was at first, thou wilt allow things 
around thee, to fall less into the power of circumstances and 
incidents. Through the equanimity which thou hast obtained, 
thou wilt be able to calculate safely on the future, and to 
prepare, in every thing which thou hast, and that surrounds 
thee — the happiness of a contented old age. As thou educatest 
and treatest thy children; what respect of feeling towards thee 
thou teachest them, so will they treat thee in thy later days. 
The more weakness they see in thee, the more trifling matters 
of injustice which thy caprice leads thee to practise against 
them, so much less esteem and love, towards thyself, dost thou 
implant in their breasts, so much less tenderness, forbearance, 
and veneration expect from them, when thou art advanced in 
life. — As thou treatest thy friends, so wilt thou find them in 
their later days, when their intercourse and assistence, as well 
as their faithful afiection, will be most necessary and beneficial 
to thee. Now, thou hast the choice of thy companions ; now, 
perhaps, they seek thee. But, hereafter, days will come, when 
thou must seek them, but wilt no longer so easily find them. 
In the same manner that thou now treatest thy neighbours and 
fellow-citizens, so thou wilt, hereafter, find them inclined 
towards thee, when, in the sunken vigor of life, thou wilt be 
of less use to them, than they to thee. If thou, hereafter, in 
thy old age, desire to receive more from them than mere cold 
politeness, why art thou nothing but simply polite to them now, 
when by a well-wishing and gladly seeming manner, when by 
sincerity and probity, thou canst make many indebted to thee, 



A HAPPY OLD AGE. 59 

and canst infuse, into all, veneration and esteem for thee? or 
why dost thou quarrel with one, concerning some frivolous 
trifle; and make thyself hated by another, through bantering; 
by a third, by misplaced vauntings; by a fourth, by malignant 
remarks; by a fifth, by obstinacy and madness? It is possible 
that many an ingrate may forget the good thou hast done him, if 
thou ceasest to keep alive the remembrance of former kindnesses, 
by a frequent repetition of them ; but, hence, it is the more certain 
that none will forget the real, or else imaginary, injustice, 
which he, through thy instrumentality, hath met with. For 
evils of all sorts, most men have an iron memory; give them 
not much to remember. 

Plant, therefore, in early life, plant now those young trees 
which thou wishest, in later days, to refresh thee with their 
fruits. Here, also, the word of Jesus is verified: "What a man 
soweth, that shall he also reap." 

The aged must expect that, sooner or later, many of their 
old companions and friends must depart from the world before 
them. New generations bloom around them, of which they 
are, but partially, members. They must fear to stand, not 
indeed, quite destitute, yet still, pretty lonely, unless they 
know how, also, to render themselves agreeable to the late 
comers, and to gain their friendship. This they can do by their 
virtues alone — these awaken veneration and confidence. They 
can do it by an ever even serenity of temper — it awakens 
admiration and interest: there will be none who would not 
wish to be like them. This they can do, by forbearance with 
the faults of youth, which shun morose persons; by proper 
judgment of men, and their times; by cheerful friendliness, 
which, with their long experience, even gives them mastery 
over youth. But all this suffices not for the happiness of old 
age. Within ourselves, we must have sufficient resources for 
ourselves. Believe not, that, when thou hast acquired a large 
fortune, it purchases for thee a contented existence, a 



60 THE ART OF ATTAINING 

pleasant, comfortable state; no! it will bring thee, if tlioii hast 
no other qualities, only avidous, impatient heirs, who can 
scarcely await thy death, to benefit themselves; or else, to 
release themselves from embarrassment, with what thou 
leavest behind. 

Store up — in the time when thou possesses! 

STRENGTH EOR IT TREASURES OF THE MIND; by which, in thy 

old age, thou mayest be useful to others, and make thy life of 
value, as well as be sufficient for thyself, when the weakness 
of age makes thee inclined to lead a lonely, quiet life. Increase 
thy knowledge by unwearied industry, as well by thy own 
researches as by conversation with prudent persons, or by the 
reading of instructive and sound writings. A well-informed 
mind is never lonely. An instructed person has never to fear 
the embarrassment of ennui; and to escape it, has no need to 
press himself upon other persons, as an importunate 
companion. What thou now gatherest in, with that thou wilt 
prepare a feast, in old age. An ignorant youth already is 
pitied, but aged persons — who often err in their judgments, or 
can instruct in no point at all — are insufferable. Imagine not 
that thy avocations leave thee but little leisure or time for the 
collection of other knowledge. Thou, too, hast thy hours of 
idleness; thou, also, findest thyself in parties, where thou 
losest whole evenings, in the most spiritless recreations. If 
thou dost not understand how to make the most of the time for 
the ennoblement of thy immortal and thinking part, then 
expect bad interest in that age of life when it only remains for 
thee to live upon it. 

A healthy body; a moderate fortune, which protects us 
from great want; a grateful tender youth, which we educate; 
friends, whom we bind firmly to us; an even joyousness of 
temper; a pure heart; an informed mind; this it is, which 
guarantees happiness of life, in the latest days of the aged, 
and without which, long life is by no means a desirable good. 



A HAPPY OLD AGE. 61 

Even though it may appear to some that too much is 
demanded, to combine all these advantages, yet, to attain them 
is no impossibility; for impossibility lies in the will of no 
prudent being. Every one knows that, partly, he already 
possesses some of these advantages, and has only to husband 
them with care; and, partly, that he can still obtain them, 
with some little determination and endurance of will. 

But man can do all through God. Let him live in God; 
that is, in the Divine Spirit, as Jesus has manifested it! 
Religion is the surest guide to the finest aim of our life. 
She gives us power and valor to undertake even the most 
difficult — to overcome even the strongest. She spreads 
dignity, grandeur, and. a blessing, over all we do. The pious 
old man — not the mere repeater of prayers, and Church-goer 
— but the old, in God living, Godly- thinking. God-lovingly 
acting man, he is the happiest. The serenity of soul, which 
lights up his venerable countenance, is but the beautiful 
reflection of a useful, perfected life; and, at the same time, a 
halo, which already beams around him, from a better world, 
to which he is approaching. 

If prolongation of life, and a happy age, are thy wish, 
then become equal to them, by the religion of Jesus, the 
divine teacher on earth. She teaches thee to foster the health 
of thy body; for it is, and shall remain, a temple of God. 
She commands thee, confiding in the blessing of God, to 
labour, that thou mayest not perish through idleness and 
effeminacy. She teaches thee to feel and show that kindness 
towards every one, by which we fetter all hearts, and can 
form lasting friendship. She gives thee an ever even temper; 
for she raises thee high above the events and sufferings of 
this life, by belief in the all-loving and wisest Providence. 
She strengthens thy soul, in misfortune, with such comfort as 
no mortal can impart to thee; in days of prosperity, she 
makes thee prudent, for she shows thee the nothingness 



62 



THE ART OF ATTAINING 



of all earthly gifts. Through her, thou obtainest for thyself 
a pure heart, and that peace of soul, that peace with God, 
without which, no pleasure can be perfect She teaches 
thee the dignity of thy spirit, chosen to immortality and 
higher perfection, and what thou art bound to do for the 
development of its wonderful powers. 

Lord of my days I God of all life! whether I shall 
conclude my earthly Career sooner than I expect, or whether 
I shall yet pass a long series of years, before Thou callest 
me hence: that is known to Thee alone. But — whatever my 
appointed lot may be — my whole existence would be in vain, 
and its end miserable, if I lived without Thee, and without 
hope of Thy approval. Only the thought of Thee, Thy love, 
and Thy w^ill, can sustain me in the storms of time, and 
strengthen me, if I have to battle with mine own unhallowed 
desires, which overpower my mind, pollute my conscience, 
disturb my peace, and even undermine the health of my body. 

Oh! assist me with the power of Thy Holy Spirit, that 
I may never forget myself, and that I may learn to rule over 
myself and my innermost feelings; that I may neglect no 
hour— that I may allow no opportunity to pass away — in 
which I may exercise and confirm myself in moderation, 
equanimity, in kindly thoughts to all, in confidence in Thee 
— ^in the advancement of my views, and in all and every thing 
wherein consists true wisdom — the wisdom of Jesus! Happy 
is the man who findeth wisdom! Length of days, is in her 
right hand; and in her left, riches and honor. Her ways are 
ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. Amen. 



IN ONE VIRTUE, ALL VIRTUE, 

2nd PETER, i. 5, 9. 



The beams of one God's majesty are seen 

In man's infinity; 
Tlie arch of heaven, illumed by many a star, 
The wonders vast, that in all Nature are; 

Declare His majesty. 

But one God's majesty doth rule 

O'er men's Eternal state; 
The lovely virtues that enchant us here, 
And grace the Seraphs of another sphere: 

From Him these emanate. 



Few persons have, indeed, applied, to the improvement 
of their minds, only half the time, trouble, and thought, 
which they have wasted at the dressing-table, for the adorning 
of their persons; or in the work room, for the bettering of 
their circumstances; or in attention to useful acquirements; or 
even in the enjoyment of pleasing recreations. Even they, 
who are by no means indifferent to their inward moral 
perfection and purity of soul, are accustomed, for the most 
part, to content themselves with the conscientious discharge of 
their domestic and civil duties, with the willingly assisting 
their friends, with being charitable to the poor, and obliging 
to strangers, with regularly attending Church and saying 
their prayers, and then, in the bustle of every day life, they 
leave what remains to chance, or their caprice for the moment. 

Therefore, it cannot but happen, that men make by far 
greater progress in skilfulness in their avocations, in the arts 
of elegance and politeness, than in self-hallowing of the soul, 
pleasing to God. They believe they have done enough for 
this, when they think they can say of themselves : "Any way, 

I AM AT LEAST NONE OF THE WORST:" althouo;h Sclf-love 



64 



IN ONE VIRTUE, 



delights to whisper this to them, and notwithstanding that they 
do not at all know the real inward feelings of those persons 
whom they are inclined to regard as worse than themselves. 

There are, indeed, from time to time, hours of serious 
self-examination; when either heavy misfortunes occasion 
them, and men can no longer find consolation but in God; or 
when repentance seizes them, at the sight of the black train 
of their manifold transgressions; or when the terrors of 
Eternity announce themselves, on their own bed of sickness, 
or at the coffin of one beloved. Hours there are, in which we 
take pious vows of reformation; and even in which we make a 
happy beginning of battling with our ruling faults, of 
reconciliation with enemies, of returning dishonestly retained 
property, and of showing love to all the world. But past 
danger, cured disease, the coffin of a friend, are again 
forgotten, the more that they relapse into the back ground of 
the past. We become more settled, finally, more indifferent, and 
at last, find ourselves in our former wavering between good 
and bad, and think that this cannot be altered. 

Then we forge many grounds for consolations, which are 
to serve us as a kind of excuse for our weakness. We say, 
on earth we cannot be saints. True it is, that conscience, 
that incorruptible judge in our breast, will not be satisfied, 
but sternly answers: "Hast thou endeavoured to be as holy 
and as good as thy circumstances would allow thee? Hast thou 
tried it constantly, year by year? Canst thou, before God, give 
an account of the exertions which thou hast made, up to this 
day, for the attainment of thy object?" The natural depravity 
of man, we say, is too great! But is not the merit of Jesus, for 
the sake of man, still greater? Hast thou already acquired for 
thyself this merit, by the practise of the virtues of Jesus ? '' But 
he that lacketh these things," says the Divine Word, "is blind, 
and cannot see afar off", and hath forgotten that he was purged 
from his old sins." 



ALL VIRTUE. 65 

It is one of the most dangerous and yet most common 
errors, to try to console ourselves for those faults which 
we yet retain, by the thought that we possess many 
a praiseworthy quality, which will counterbalance any 
generally prevailing weaknesses. But what prudent man is 
there who can seriously believe that a sin can be justified in 
any way? Is not sin always a transgression of the soul, 
even though it possesses never so many virtues? If thy 
whole body were healthy, with the exception of but one 
single diseased and painful limb, wouldst thou consider 
thyself quite healthy because the other parts are sound? 
Wouldst thou thus excuse the injured part, and feel its pain 
the less? But moi-e than this, which are thy praiseworthy 
qualities, which thy virtues, that afford thee so much comfort? 
Thou loTest God, but thou hatest thy brethren — thou art 
charitable, and disinterested, but dost now and then allow thyself 
some unpermitted advantages, in order to make up by 
dishonest means any diminution of thy property. In company 
thou art amiable, gladly rendering aid and assistance to every 
one, but at home thou alio west thy insufferable caprices to 
reign, and be the cause of quarrels. In secret thou doest 
much good, and that without ostentation; but in secret thou also 
seekest to lower and demean him who is somewhat odious to 
thee, or in quiet thou endeavourest to satisfy — and that 
shamefully enough — other unlawful inclinations. Canst thou 
so grossly deceive thyself with the hope that these tliy virtues 
will in the judgment of God, counterbalance these thy sins in 
His scale? Can a thief, even if he really have the best 
disposition in all other things, by reference to that, bribe 
an earthly judge, to dismiss him on this account, unpunished 
for his thefts? 

Rejoice not on account of thine own good qualities and 
deeds, as long as the others are wanting — for even in them 
thou art imperfect. One can be perfect in no single 



66 

VIRTUE, AS LONG AS OTHER VIRTUES ARE WANTING, becaUSe 

each single one consists and is perfect in the existence of all 
the others. In every single virtue the rest are centered, as on 
every part of the body the health of the whole depends. 
Only examine thyself, and thou wilt soon discover what little 
real worth there is in that, in which thou hast thought thyself 
most perfect. 

Thou, perhaps, thinkest within thyself, in many things I 
may be faulty, but yet no one can say of me that I am not to 
my dear children, a good tender father, or a faithful anxious 
mother, and that I do not fulfil all duties towards them, even 
at the sacrifice of my own best pleasures and my own health. 
This may be: but in good truth, if thou art faulty in other 
things, thou art wanting in love and fidelity towards thy 
children. Thou errest against thy children, as often as thou 
settest them the example of contempt for, or anger with 
thy spouse. Thou errest against them as often as thou 
arousest hatred and disturbance in thy house, by quarrels with 
neighbours and acquaintances. — Thou errest against them, 
when thou forgettest thyself at the cup, or at play, or 
when thou actest with injustice and dishonesty in thy office and 
employment; or causest enmities by thy malicious witticisms; 
or by superciliousness or flattery, or by a wavering of thy 
principles, or in any other way dishonourest thy name, which 
thou shouldst leave to thy children as their best inheritance. 
Thou lovest them— but thou hast done any thing but act so that 
also after thy death even the thought of men on thee will be a 
blessing to them. — Is that true love of thy children?— oh! no 
lono-er deceive thyself; thou art still far distant from that 
virtue in which thou thinkest thyself most perfect. Thou 
hast the mere innate inclination. — not the virtue itself. 
The one arises from sensual nature, and every animal feels 
a passion for its young— but the other springs from the 
mind. It is very faulty as long as thou allowest errors 



ALL YIRTUE. 



67 



in other things. For on one virtue all depend. If the 
one be crippled then also will the rest only exist maimed. 
To convince ourselves of this truth, it is sufficient to turn 
with deep scrutiny upon the po^yer of those qualities of 
the mind, which seem to us the most praiseworthy. 
Thou hatest a lie, and above all honourest truth — It is laudable ! 
But when thou triest to win the esteem of one dear to thee; 
when thou cloakest thy ambition with humility, and concealest 
thy passionate temper with a soft voice, and leavest hitherto 
frequented bad company, without, however, losing a desire for 
it; when thou, in order to please, strivest to appear better 
than thou really art; canst thou say that lying is an abhorrence 
to thee ? — Persons generally esteem thee as good-hearted and 
humane. — Thou thyself believest that thou art so. It is 
impossible that thou couldst premeditatedly injure any one, or 
heedlessly plunge him into misfortune, or even embarrassment. 
It is very laudable of thee! But if, by the way, in any choice 
passion, in thy love of the chase, in thy application to the 
gaming table, in thy visit to balls, and other pleasures, if thou 
dissipatest in these things a valuable part of thy life time, 
during which, oh! friend of man, thou couldst have been of 
some greater use to thy fellow men; or when for these thou 
more or less neglectest the duties of thy profession, 
employment, and household, so that thus other persons suffer ; 
when thou, oh! friend of man, in little sums, which at the end of 
the year become considerable, expendest an important amount 
on superfluities in dogs, horses, luxuries, epicurism, or other 
unnecessary modes of recreation, whilst there are still many 
families in thy village, which should be assisted, and which are 
not wanting in industry and good-will, but only need a little 
aid in order to recover themselves from want; art thou 
there in truth a friend of man? No! No! no virtue is perfect, 
but when she blooms inwardly, and is firmly twined in the 
wreath of all the others. 

F 2 



bo IN ONE VIETUE, 

Comfortless indeed is this glance into the heart — jet 
I will not retract it — for it is instructive. It is well that man 
should be able to learn his own nature, that he may by that means 
find out the more easily, what measures he should adopt in order 
to improve his state. Up to now I have not been destitute of desire 
to invest myself with every virtue which may make me pleasing 
to God and man, and which may produce in me, an honorable 
content with myself. — More than once have I tried ceaselessly 
to pay attention to myself, in order to avoid my faults. — But then 
oftentimes there were too many distractions, which rendered it 
impossible that the same strict self-examination should take place, 
which is practicable in the quiet of simple domestic occupations. 
More than once have I tried to exercise myself in all virtues — but 
then my duties often became so many, that I,of myself, despaired 
to be equally great in all. Attimes I thought to strengthen myself 
in good, by persevering prayer — but too generally in the pressure 
of circumstances, have my pious inclinations disappeared, as 
soon as my devotion was over. At times I thought to arouse 
myself to the virtues of a true Christian, by the hearing 
of edifying sermons, or by the reading of holy books. 
I felt the most pious emotions — my whole soul was stored 
with virtue — the tear in my eye bore testimony to the depth 
of my wish to grow better — but then — when the flame of my 
feeling had died — (and no mortal is able, by nature, 
to have continually, the same degree of emotion!) then 
also the first impetus was lost. — I was nearly as before. — 
At times I sought to invigorate myself by the acquirement of 
the simplest truths and principles. For I hoped that I should 
ever remember them, since convictions resulting from 
principle, are always more lasting than emotions of the mind. 
But then at times I was unexpectedly the prey of many 
feelings; their violence darkened all the fruits of reflection, 
just as an inebriate forgets the most holy principles, which 
when sober he admitted. 



ALL VIRTUE. 



69 



But if it be true that one sin is the mother of all others ; 
must not also one virtue be the mother of all others. 

If it be true, (and how can I for a moment longer doubt it,) 
that in one virtue all virtues are centered, and that no single 
one can exist by itself; should I not attain this point, that by 
CONTINUOUS EXERCISE OF ONE SINGLE VIRTUE, I may likewise 
enter into possession of all the others? When I should not 
be perplexed by a multitude of different duties, because I 
should execute all in the perfect exercise of one, then my 
virtue would depend less on passing feelings, and my 
convictions would less quickly be darkened by any contrary 
emotions. And for this single or mother virtue, I should 
choose one, for which, already by nature, I have the greatest 
inclination within me. 

By all means it is so. The word of God agrees with 
these hopes; it teaches that in one virtue all the rest are 
included; that whosoever executes one virtue perfectly, 
exercises at the same time all the others. Thus Jesus Christ 
recommended love — "Love God more than every thing, and 
thy neighbour as thyself." Herein lies the substance of all 
divine laws. Thus did Peter, a disciple of Jesus, recommend 
faith in Jesus. "Giving all diligence," says he, "add to 
your faith, virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to 
knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and 
to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; 
and to brotherly kindness, charity. For if these things be in 
you, and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be 
barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus 
Christ." (2nd Peter, i. 5, 8.) 

But which is that virtue, by the constant exercise of 
which, I shall be enabled to sanctify my whole inward being. 

Choose for thyself, as the mother of all other 

VIRTUES that one WHICH IS EASIEST FOR THEE. But 

none will be easier for thee than that, to which thou art 



70 



IN ONE VIHTIJE, 



already inclined by thy station and temperament. — In as 
much as there is no fault more difficult to be combated^ 
than that, which is joined to our temperamentj so no 
virtue is stronger and firmer, than that, from which are 
derived our whole being and existence. True it is, that 
natural virtues have no great merit. — In real worth, they 
cannot be compared with those which are acquired hj difficult 
self-command. It is no great merit, when one who is 
naturally well-disposed towards her children, cares and works 
for them. — But what, perhaps, these are deficient in higher 
worth, they gain in esteem by their strength and duration. — • 
By these, they become most appropriate, to be at the same time 
a firm foundation for the whole temple of virtue in our hearts, 
and the source of our growth in holiness. Every other higher 
virtue may indeed produce the same effects, but, when exercised, 
costs greater trouble. — We are in danger of often seeing these 
fail; the more dangerous then is it, to make them the 
foundation-stone and pillar of our perfection. 

Enquire then, and test thyself, which of thy good 
qualities it is in which thou findest thyself the strongest and 
firmest? Is it thy faith in Jesus? Is it love to God and 
men? or, humility, and veneration of truth? — which ever 
virtue it be, from it the sublimest, finally the very highest, will 
shoot forth; if thou only pitlly exercise that one in all 
times, and under all circumstances. 

But take heed lest thou makest the protecting genius 
of thy heart, that one virtue^ or good quality, which only keeps 
thee from evil deeds, but spurs thee not on to good. It must 
not be an unfruitful, but an active virtue. An unfruitful 
virtue is none at all, it is no merit not to lie, not to steal, not 
to offend, not to murder; but it is a merit, it is venerable, to 
bless them that curse us, to do good to them that injure us. — Thus 
does Jesus mark the true virtue, which avails before God. 
Now what is in thee, which in the most varying circumstances. 



ALL VIRTUE. 



71 



and at all times, most worthily encourages and urges thee to 
do good?— This choose! This will be thy guide-post to 
perfection, to following Jesus, to the foundation of perfect 
peace of soul. If thou duly examine thyself carefully, there will 
surely be such a one within thee. — Completely dead to the 
good thou canst not be. Dost thou feel an inward, tender, 
grateful love to thy parents; oh! then let this love become 
thy angel; completely dissolve thyself in this love; do 
nothing without regard to these dear persons; think them 
present at every one of thy actions, make them in thought the 
prayer of thy ideas, imagine that though absent, they are 
present, and listen to thy words. — If they be dead, so 
much the more solemn will the thought of them be? And 
dost thou know that they are not witnesses of thy deeds? Who 
knows the secrets of the Kingdom of Spirits, and the power 
of those called into the light? Let love and gratitude to thy 
parents lead thy steps, and if thou lovest them in reality, thou 
wilt indulge no impure thoughts, which thou wouldst be 
ashamed to speak before them; thou wilt neglect no noble deed, 
by which thou canst honour their memory; no exertion, no 
sacrifice, no self-denial will be difficult for thee, so as to be 
worthy of them. And what is most difficult, that thou 
wilt do most determinately, because, by it, although they do 
not see and know it, thou wilt most strongly express thy love 
and gratitude. This love will be thy inward sun, which 
will warm thee for all that is praiseworthy, from which all 
individual virtues which thou exercisest are but so many 
emotions which purify thy spirit. The more tender, true, and 
perfect thy love, the more powerfully will it show itself in all 
thy thoughts, wishes, words, and deeds. Thou wilt be 
united with Jesus. — Then in the blessed Saviour, Who 
loved His Father in heaven above all the world, thou wilt 
see thine own splendid pattern; Who, from love to God, bore 
with courage even the most oppressing circumstances, and 



72 IN ONE VIRTUE, ALL VIRTUE. 

nobly conquered in the hours of temptations, and gladly 
undertook for the happiness of mankind every duty even the 
most difficult — even death on the cross. — Ever and anon I 
return unto Thee — Jesus Christ — Thou All-perfection. — 
But in Thee alone I find united, what shall serve me as the 
pattern of my course, as light in my darkness; only in Thy 
life and example I again find power and vigor for the 
endeavour to become a better man. — Through Thee I learn 
that virtue and sin cannot dwell together; that I must not rest 
satisfied with individual praiseworthy feelings, and single useful 
actions; that he is not a follower of Thee, who does not strive 
for true perfection, and sanctity of spirit. There is one God — 
and one virtue. Who has one virtue, has all. Oh ! this quiet 
serious self-reflection, will not be in vain. I will pursue it in 
lonely moments, and seek in my spirit the deep foundation on 
which my virtues may be raised. Spirit of mercies, Spirit of 
God, sanctify me, — Amen. 



PROVIDENCE 



I know that God will grant me aid, 
Though my hope's anchor be not staid; 
Though all my choicest pleasures fade, 
I'll not despair. 

What though the path I tread be drear? 
What though no friendly light appear? 
With Providence and mercy near, 
I'll not despair. 



There may be moments, and hours, and weeks of 
pain, which shake all our courage, and extinguish all our 
hopes. — At some period misfortunes may ally themselves 
against us on all sides, and make us confused in our holiest 
convictions, and even shake, in our soul, belief in the Eternal 
Providence. 

Oft through fear, oft by argument, we see malice 
triumph, and justice enslavedj we see the righteous Christian, 
who, with modesty, has laid the foundation of much good in 
quiet; we see him misunderstood, calumniated, and persecuted, 
whilst any self-interested, cunning, or powerful miscreant, is 
favoured with success in all his undertakings: — we ask 
ourselves with doubt — what? does not the eye of Providence 
watch above the stars? 

Alas ! how many a pious, quiet, and once happy family, 
has become the sacrifice of war! — In what manner had they 
transgressed, that their dwelling, the abode of all domestic 
virtues, should become the prey of the flames? — The sorrow- 



74 PROVIDENCE. 

stricken father — how has he transgressed, that the whole of 
his property, for which he has worked so uninterruptedly, and so 
laboriously the whole of his life, should be taken away fronfi 
him in a few hours? Those nights of sorrow — those days of 
care — those thousand drops of perspiration, which he has shed 
for the w^eal of his family — the sorrows and hopes of along life — 
have all these been in vain? How has the poor infant sinned, 
who was the sole pleasure and love of its parents, that the 
lust of booty, and of warring hordes, should have sunk it and 
its family into the miserable situation of the deepest poverty; 
that it must haplessly press its way through life in indigence, 
and perhaps afterwards, when its parents shall finally have left 
it, must wander an outcast from street to street in search of 
foreign aid? — We shudder, when we see the most lamentable 
sacrifices, and ask: — does blind and cruel chance sport with 
the children of men, or does a higher Providence watch over us? 
At the death-bed of a sick child, a comfortless mother 
kneels. The favorite, whom she bore with pains, and 
nurtured with tender care, lies before her like unto a 
fading flower, and all her best joys in this world fade with it. 
She raises him with crying eyes, weeping to heaven, and again 
fixes them passionately on the patient angel. — She kisses his 
wan face; for the last time he opens his eyes, and once more 
smiles with sweet innocence on the good mother; once again he 
stretches out his little hand to his mother's, as though it were a 
farewell. Alas! he is very loath to leave a faithful mother's 
heart! — But love is torn from love, and heart from heart. — 
The mother faints powerless over the soulless body of 
her beloved. Have then all her pains and all her sorrows been 
in vain. All her thousand hopes indulged in vain — a thousand 
tears shed in vain! — In vain were the devout burning tears of 
her loneliness, as she prayed to heaven for the recovery of her 
child. — Must there then be in this world insatiable grief — and 
no attention from above? — Darkly she looks into the night of 



PROVIDENCE. 75 

life, as if she sought aid, salvation, and God; and the sobs 
from her oppressed and heaving breast seemed to ask heaven, 
if there be a Providence, why does it forsake me? 

When the floods of swelling streams sweep away 
numberless families, with their dwellings, and bury them in 
the depth of the waters — when earthquakes destroy whole 
towns with their inhabitants, the righteous and the wicked — 
when, as it happened a few years ago in a neighbouring 
country, mountain heights loosen and roll down, and in 
one moment extirpate a whole vale full of joyous and happy 
herdsmen — men and women, young and old, strangers and 
natives — and bury them under an immense mass of ruins, so that 
no traces of them can ever again be seen: who can remain without 
fear — who casts not a searching glance into the train of 
accidents of Eternal Providence? 

But let us only look into ourselves with clear judgment, 
and we shall soon find out that Providence has not ceased to 
watch and to act, that the Deity is not fled from the world, 
but we shall find out the causes from which the want of our 
confidence in Providence, and the fickleness of our wavering 
faith have arisen. 

Generally, — and who can deny it? — most men only 

BEGIN TO THINK OE AIDING PROVIDENCE IN THE MIDST 

OF THEIR MISFORTUNES. — As loug as they lived content in 
quiet, happy circumstances, it rarely, often never, occured to 
them, to reflect on the dispensations of God as regards the fate 
of those whom He has called into life. — Thus the invalid first 
begins to esteem the happiness of his days in health, when he is 
stretched on the bed of pain. As long as he was in health, he 
despised the thought of sickness, and lived without moderation 
in his pleasures, till they became poison to him. — But when 
want presses from all sides on failing man, then it is, that he 
raises his eye to heaven, and under the weight of his misfortunes 
enquires, does Providence also watch over me? — But in this 



76 



PROVIDENCE. 



harassing situation, in this timid state of mind, he is the very 
least suited properly to convince himself of the wise and 
enduring dispensations of Divine Providence. — His heart is 
too much engaged by other matters, to give itself up 
to quiet and continuous researches. He only thinks of that of 
which he is afraid j he only feels what troubles himj and 
because his harassed mind cannot gain a sudden conviction of 
God's wise rule, because it cannot immediately make itself 
acquainted with all the circumstances which alone could 
instruct him in the higher wisdom of Divine counsels, he 
becomes perplexed and doubtful. — He only sees the present 
oppressing moment, and does not see the co-operation and plan 
of life. — From the wondrous chain of millions of other events 
he tears the single occurrence by which he has been grieved. 
No wonder then is it, that a mind, weak and inexperienced 
in the observation of the Divine government of the world, 
takes the individual for the whole, the secondary matter for 
the primary — that it deems itself and all things the games of 
blind, dead chance. 

If in quiet day when our soul was capable of inquiries 
of a higher nature, if we had then enquired into the dark 
hand of the Eternal Ruler of the world in the life, and 
in the destiny of men 3 we should have acquired an exercise 
of power over our minds, which the greatest misfortune 
could not shake. — If we had in many a lonely hour thought 
more on the curious, happy, and sad circumstances of 
our own life, then we should have more than once exclaimed 
with glad astonishment: — See there was the hand of God! — 
We should have seen how many a matter, which seemed to us 
an incurable evil, often bore the best fruits of our whole 
life, for the good of our family. We should have recognised 
that if the one or the other of our most ardent wishes had 
been fulfilled, we should have been obliged to forfeit our 
present happiness — our present station. We should not 



PROVIDEN-CE, 77 

be able to deny that many a thing for which we once 
toiled, prayed, and sighed in vain, would eventually in 
the course of affairs, have proved to ourselves, and to others a 
misfortune. We should allow that many a dreadful occurrence, 
which once severely pressed on us in our life, produced a most 
beneficial effect upon our heart and habits of thought, and that 
now in the happy and golden hours of life, we owe much to 
this improved and wiser mode of thinking. 

A Christian, well exercised in such observations on the 
wise management of the Hand of God on the race of man, 
will truly not err through any event of life against his God, 
and His All-ruling Providence. For him chance exists not 
in the world, but only a firm harmony, of which he is fully 
convinced. In his need he will call on God, and 
rememberingj how often short-sighted man may err in his 
most ardent wishes, he will add to every prayer, but 
Lord " Thy will, xot mi:s-e, be do^e ! " He will rely 
with a confidence, which refreshes the heart, upon God's designs, 
as a child, which, without seeing the cause, is apparently 
ill-treated by its fatlier. 

Another source of human doubt in the Eternal Providence 
lies in the proud, light-minded misapplication of ocjr mind, 
TO JUDGE THE COURSE OF THE WORLD, whilst wc meditate 
and dream over a single individual. Foolish man, thou 
wishest to speak and judge concerning thy life, how it could 
have been better, and canst not say what content thy next 
hour will have. 

Thou wouldst doubt the existence of an All-ruling 
Providence, because thou canst not understand of what advantas^e 
this or that misfortune may be, in which towns and lands perish. 
But of Creation, thou knowest but a grain of sand; of Eternity, 
but a moment; and what thou callest a misfortune, is so only in 
thine eyes : but dost thou know whether it was a misfortune to 
those who suffered the calamity? 



78 



PROVIDENCE. 



Thou doubtest God's Providence, because thj confined 
mind cannot grasp and understand it. He, who wishes to 
judge God's arrangement of the world, must be God ! 

We often blame what to us appears too dreadful, and 
whereof we can foresee good results neither for us nor the 
world, and events which can neither be called into existence, 
nor hindered, by man. 

But all, which appears to our imagination so very fearful, 
is not so terrible to them who bore the misfortune. When an 
earthquake swallows up flourishing towns, with thousands of 
happy races — when a falling mountain crushes the inhabitants 
of a whole district: in this terrifying event what was the 
greatest misfortune? — The Death of all these individuals — 
their sudden departure from the land of the living. What ! 
is Death so dreadful a misfortune? Is not the last stage of 
all men, that minute, which changes them? Do not on every day, 
according to the most probable calculations of the immense 
mass of those living upon earth, hundreds and thousands both 
dispersed and individually, in all parts of the world, die; 
whilst hundreds and thousands on the other hand are born. — 
Is it a great misfortune to die at one and the same 
moment with those who are dearest to our hearts? Would 
not the tender husband gladly die with his departing wife? Would 
not the bleeding mother's heart die atthe same time with her dying 
child? Doubters! of what misfortune speak ye now? — Is it 
that thousands depart in the same moment? — But daily 
through illness and other causes, thousands disappear from our 
earth. — Or is it that thousands have passed away in a dream? 
What has a dream to do in common with a so styled 
misfortune? What God has done, is well done! ^'Oh! the 
depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! 
how unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past 
finding out! For who hath known the mind of the Lord, or 
who hath been His counsellor? " (Rom. xi. 33, 34.) 



PROVIDENCE, 7y 

Herein principally lies the chief ground of despair in 
the Providence of God, that we are too much attached to the 
sensual and earthly to which the wants of the body are 
subjected, and are not more closely connected with thoughts 
on the world of Spirits to which our souls belong. — For him 
who lives just as much in the world of Spirits, as in his earthly 
employments, death is no such dreadful evil. He knows it — 
he lives in God; from Him, and by Him, are all things. 
But in God there is no death ! Loss of our property, 
and our prosperity, is this to the Christian — the wise man, 
finally the greatest evil of the world? No it is the greatest 
evil to him, who has only lived, and that exclusively, for these 
earthly goods. But what Christian, what wise man, will live 
principally for that, which is at the best only lent him, which 
he can never keep, and which continually changes; who trembles 
so much for that which goes from one death-bed to another — 
one heir to another? To him who has not placed his highest 
weal in that which is dust, the greatest evil is not the 
loss of that which is and remains dust. Many a one must 
first become impoverished, ere he thinks his greatest 
happiness: to be a man— to belong to God and his higher 
destinies. 

It is often only a momentary weakness, which makes 
us waver in our confidence in the Eternally-enduring, 
All-ruling Providence. — Mindful of his littleness, but 
unmindful of the inexpressible perfection of God, many a one 
despairs, and says to himself: God is too sublime, how can 
He occupy Himself with my trifling affairs and wishes, and 
with the weal of each individual insignificant being. 

What, and yet thou art a creature of God? — And yet 
God is the highest being Who governs and maintains the 
infinite creation in the greatest possible perfection, — Whither 
doth thy weakness lead thee? Thou degradest the Deity 
to the confined understanding, and crippled powers of a 



80 PEOYIDENCE. 

mortal who cannot oversee all. Thou likenest Him to thyself, 
oh worm! and placest in equal rank the Creator and the 
creature. 

Behold, He Who daily leads the stars of the heavens, those 
innumerable worlds, through the unbounded whole of existence, 
and rules their course; Who firmly secures with invisible 
bands even the smallest grain of sand to our globe, that it may 
not be loosened from it; Who cares for the world of little worms, 
who enjoying their life pass it as mildew on some rose-leaf. — 
Should He be able to rule with such infinite wisdom the great 
kingdom of dead powers, and at times forget the spirits, which 
nobler than all, can praise, call on Him, and pray to Him? — 
FonGET ! how unworthy an idea of the Most Perfect ! And if He 
be this, then His omniscience. His all-merciful and all- 
encompassing love, are just as infinitely perfect. — Without His 
will, Jesus saith, " Not a sparrow falls to the ground, and the 
hairs of your head are all numbered." — '^ Wherefore, if God so 
clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow 
is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, oh 
ye of little faith." (Matt. vi. 39.) 

Oh Thou Inscrutable, Eternal, All-merciful, Whom I call 
Father, Thou Who maintainest, rulest, and guidest all things: 
Thou too rulest my destiny ! Thou hast never, and wilt never, 
desert me, even though all in this world leave me; quietly and 
confidingly I tread the dark roads, in which Thy invisible hand 
leads me, for it leads me to Thee. I will adore and venerate 
the wonderful paths of Thy Providence, and the eternal laws 
by which the Spirit-land, which Thou hast created, must move. — 
I will also adore and venerate that which the dark light of 
my comprehension cannot enlighten. For all, oh Infinite, oh 
All-merciful, oh my Father, all come from Thee, and all 
return to Thee. 



OUR DEPENDANCE ON GOD, 

JEREMIAH, iv. 24. 



Great is the Lord, as none besides; 

His majesty declare; 
For whom, in perfectnoss and might, 

With Him can we compare? 
The Lord is great— His name is great— 

And who so good as He? 
Boundless and infinite in love, 

And mercy rich and free. 

Whate'er we are— whate'er shall be — 

Is by His power alone; 
The things of earth— the things of heaven- 

To Him alike are known; 
We are but as the fading leaves. 

Viewed in Jehovah's sight; 
Without His aid, but vilest dust; 

Our deeds but shadows light. 



When Christ satisfied and astonished thousands, who had 
collected around Him, in the desert, at the sea of Galilee, 
when but seven loaves and a few fishes were to be obtained, the 
people were lost in wonder, and prayed. But the Deity repeats 
the wonder every succeeding year. — A few grains of seed fall 
into the earth and after the lapse of a few months, all quarters of 
the world are nourished by them, and enriched with provisions 
and superabundance, for years and days. — But men receive the 
accustomed gift often without thinking of the Giver with 
heart-felt gratitude, and do not even say in their hearts, 
Let us fear the Lord our God, Who sendeth the 

G 



82 OUR DEPENDANCE 

LATE AND EARLY RAIN IN DUE SEASON, AND FAITHFULLY 
AND ANNUALLY GIVETH US THE HARVEST. 

The fruit trees bend under the weight of refreshing", 
wholesome fruit; the fields send their golden harvest into the 
barns, and the pastures fill them with wholesome provender 
for the cattle; the garden-fruits ripen in manifold variety, 
strong and beautiful. Winter approaches from a distance; 
under his breath the world of plants will die; but all fearlessly 
await him — God hath provided! 

And if God had not provided! if He had otherwise 
ordained it in the secret arrangement of the clouds, so that 
heat and drought should have parched our atmosphere, 
or hail-storms destroyed our crops, or continuous rains and 
cold devastated the fruits of the earth; or if He had given 
power to vermin to spoil the harvest of human industry, by 
enormous increase ; or if He had only in the air imperceptibly 
withdrawn that unknown matter by which the plants 
receive power and bloom — what should we be to-day? 
Of what use would all forethought, all care, all trouble 
have been to us? — What would our harvests be? — 
A fear of famine. 

Imagine to thyself a quarter of the globe, with many 
thousand inhabitants, without requisite nourishment, till the 
approach of a better autumn. Thou who canst now 
luxuriously wallow in dainty morsels, imagine that thy 
provisions will be doled out to thee. The rich man throws 
a look of disdain upon the heaps of gold scraped together; 
dead lie the praised treasures, for they are unpayable— 
they are useless. The poor man desparingly stirs from 
house to house; in the common want even the most 
merciful become cruel, and refuse the dying the little 
nourishment by which he will have respite for some days. 



ON GOD. 83 

The infant complainingly pines away at the breast of the grief- 
absorbed and fainting mother. Maddened hunger hastens into 
the fields, and tries unwholesome herbs and roots — right of 
property disappears before the power of despair. 

All our social and friendly ties are broken; for each one 
envies the other his last morsel. Parents and children are 
divided,becauseof a handful of provisions; and the servant leaves 
his helpless master, who can no longer support him. Wan visages 
meet each other in the streets, and hollow eyes ask each other — 
Canst thou give me any thing? Corpses on corpses are carried 
by, and are deemed happy by the living, who foresee no such 
near end to their calamity. Murdering epidemics pass from town 
to town, from village to village; in consequence of nauseous 
provisions, all abhorrence is overcome, and things at which 
the nature of man once shuddered, entice as costly dishes. — 
He who hath satisfied himself, is esteemed the happiest; he who 
is stretched powerless from want of food is no longer bemoaned, 
for no other fate awaits the rest. 

Autumn may give us its gifts with a generous or a sparing 
hand, but it is ever there to announce to us our dependance 
on God. We are nothing, we have nothing without Him; and 
have every thing through His goodness alone. Though man 
but seldom remind himself of it, autumn admonishes him! 
The Countryman trembles because of the showery clouds of 
summer; the vine-dresser because of the cool wet days, in 
which the grapes should ripen. Every one with anxiety 
awaits the result of the autumn — cheapness or scarcity follow 
in its wake. 

We are dependant on God — every second we live, and 
every breath we draw teach us this. What should we be, unless 
under the protection of Providence? — And yet man stalks about 
proudly, as if his harvests were but the consequences of past 
exertions, and redoubled skill. — He boasts of his affluence, 

G 2 



84 OTTR DEPEKDANCE 

land his consequence amongst mortals, as if all this were the 
fruits of his wisdom.— He laughingly recounts a series of 
favourable occurrences, as if his own power had called them 
forth. — Ah, how little is requisite, to annihilate him and his 
majesty! A year,an hour, a moment, without God's blessing,and 
a stream of unforeseen misery has carried away the proud one. 

Therefore, however much I prosper, however successfully 
my projects may turn out, I will ever remind myself of my 
dependance on the Giver of all good. — Not on my skill and 
adroitness, not on my industry and anxiety; but on His blessing, 
every thing in good truth depends. 

We stand in continual dependance on God, as 

A CHILD IS DEPENDANT ON ITS PARENTS. He careS for US, 

as a mother for her weak infant, as a father for his young 
son. — However obedient a child may be to its parents, can 
it through that obedience, obtain clothing and food? In 
what manner has it put its parents under obligations to it, 
that they should give it any thing in return ? Alas, infinitely 
poorer and weaker are men before their Heavenly Father. — • 
Even their most pious obedience is, in the end, no merit before 
Him»— -They have nothing which they can give, or by which 
they can serve Him. — Unto Him is all, — He alone always gives 
to them, and He gives to them gladly and incessantly. 

We are as dependant, as infant children on their parents. 
This relationship far from disheartening me, should, on the 
one hand, only lessen my levity and my reliance on my own 
powers; and on the other increase my gratitude to, and 
confidence in God. Why do I so soon become faint-hearted 
when all things do not happen as I wish?— Why do 
I become frightened when I think on times of scarcity, 
on many possible cases of misfortune, and on the fate of 
my beloved family, when they no longer have me among 
ftem? Am I not entirely dependant on God? Is He not 



ON GOD. 85 

my own father as well as of all those belonging' unto me? 
Has He not up to this day ruled all things for the best. 
I tremble at human power, and at the designs of mine 
enemies— but are they not dependant on God, like myself? 
Can they, without His will, draw a single breath? Is He 
not the ruler of all destiny, and does not He guide the hearts 
of princes and of beggars, through the concurrence of 
circumstances and events. 

Oh no ! my soul, never despair, even though thy troubles 
hang darkest over thee, even though man should depart from 
thee, and leave thee neither counsel nor consolation. For 
thou art indeed dependant on Him, Who has created thee, 
Who has lovingly preserved thee up to the present hour. Who 
was always ready to aid thee. Who often quite unexpectedly 
gave thee the purest joys, and never even sent thee any sorrows, 
but which brought in their wake the best results for thee, 
sometimes without thy knowledge, sometimes thou mightest, 
though long afterwards, perceive them. Rejoice in thy 
dependance on the Father of all creation! 

Dependant are we on God; He gives us whatever we 
stand in need of. But He does not give us, unless we also 

CALL OUR MIND AND OUK HANDS TO AID US. Not indeed 

that through them we can merit His blessing — for what 
advantage ever accrued to the Deity, through our trouble and 
art — but that by them we may arrive at higher perfection. 
As a father educates his infant child, by presents and 
love, so God educates the race of man, in as much as he 
obliges them to make use of the mental and corporeal powers, 
which are implanted in them. This use of our talents augments 
their vigor. — Thus from time to time we arrive at new discoveries 
and inventions, which become useful to us, and again incite 
others to do the like. — Thus does the hope of our station lead 
us to a more active, disinterested existence, to more friendly 



86 OTJK DEPENDANCE 

and brotherly relations with each other; thus it leads us to a more 
forcible recognition of our duties, and a clearer idea of our 
Heavenly Father. —Thus He educates us ; and through the 
benefits which we obtain, only by the employment of our 
mental and bodily powers, we finally receive a greater boon 
than we almost imagined; we receive a spirit, ennobled, more 
sublime, and more pious, and one worthy of reaping still 
more glorious harvests in the fields of eternity. 

But as a faithful child of God, I cannot allow these 
feelings to remain inactive; they must be the wings of my 
devotion to raise me, as I thankfully pray, to the Throne of 
infinite grace; wings of my soul for God-like deeds. For 
it is the very height of devotion and piety, to try to 
imitate Qod Himself, and to endeavour to rule in the 
smaller sphere of our action, as blessedly as He ruleth in the 
immeasurable Kingdom of His Creation. 

As VTE ARE DEPENDANT ON HiS MERCY, SO OTHERS ARE 

DEPENDANT UPON US. All things that exist, have been so 
closely interwoven one with the other, that the greatest and the 
least, the highest and the lowest, always exist in dependance 
upon each other. Let us think and practice godly deeds 
towards those who are dependant upon us. 

Our children and those who belong to us, have been 
entrusted by God to our care and protection. Let them too 
feel the sweet happiness of dependance on the good wishes of 
the father and mother's heart. And as God, by the blessing 
of autumn, makes provision for our maintenance in future 
months and years, so let us take into consideration their 
proper maintenance for the years of their future life. In the 

DAYS OE PLENTY, THINK OE THE TIME OF NEED; AND IN THE 
HAPPINESS OE HEALTH, OE THE PAINS OE THE BED OF 

SICKNESS. How many are there, who to-day with extravagant 
hand throw away on a game of chance, what, hereafter, their 



ON GOD. 87 

children will seek for with weeping eyes, from out the dust 
and mire. For life, but little is necessary; "If so be/' sayeth 
St. Paul, " that we have food and raiment, let us be therewith 
content." For happiness, but little is necessary; only let there 
be moderation in our desires, contentment with what we have, 
and reliance on the All-wise, All-ruling Hand of Providence. 

What we possess more than is necessary for our wants, 
belongs not unto us, but to them, who without assistance, cannot 
maintain themselves. — It is over-capital which Providence has 
entrusted to us, to employ for the best interests of others. 
Let man never call that his property, which God^s kindness has 
lent him for life; the mind has no property but its will, its virtue, 
its power; of every thing else man is deprived by vicissitudes, 
a night, or an hour, which we call the departing hou,r of life. 

Whoever, therefore, dissipates with levity, the superfluous 
property which he received from heaven, in order to feast his 
senses, acts faithlessly with that, which was destined for the 
maintenance and enjoyment of other beings. He makes himself 
unworthy of the harvest he has acquired. For it was neither 
his prudence, nor the sweat of his brow, but the will and blessing 
of the Most High, that gave him his greater wealth, that he 
mio-ht share it with those who have nothing;. 

Be sparing ! Think of those who are dependant on thee, 
as God thinks of thee to-day, Ye congregations, think of your 
posterity, and take heed that ye dissipate not the property 
which has been gathered for future times of misfortune! Ye 
parents, think of your children, who are justified in demanding 
of you the means by which, they may independently and 
respectably pass their existence. Not from you, but from God, 
they receive their life; not for you, but for them, God gave 
you more than you want. 

Think of those, who are dependant on you ! And 
who is more dependant than the pauper, who stands in need of 



88 OTJR DEPENDANCE 

every thing from the favor of his happy fellow-men? Be like 
imto God, in imitating the graciousness which He shows unto 
thee. He blesses thee, for the joy of the unblessed; He but 
makes thee the distributor of His gifts, which He has allotted 
them from thy hands. As long as there remains, oh 
Christian ! a family in thy congregation who fights with 
hunger and thirst; as long as there is a weeping mother, 
who knows not how to protect her children against the rude 
blast of winter; as long as there is some wretched being, 
who cannot find wherewithal to cover his nakedness ; as 
long as there is an invalid pining on his bed, who has no 
aiding friend, whose inward sufferings no medicine can alleviate, 
and whose pains no balsam can soothe ; so long thy luxuriant 
feast is a crime, for Lazarus begs at thy door! — so long thy 
robe of silk, that precious dress in which thou shinest, is 
the witness of thy cruelty and baseness of mind. — For those 
sufferers, oh ! be it not forgotten, are God's children, and He 
gave thee superfluity, that in the name of the common Father 
of all, thou mightest distribute it to thy needy brothers and 
sisters! — For thy garments of splendour, and thy feasts, oh! be 
it not forgotten, are a mockery of heaven and its laws, a 
mockery of humanity and her claims on thee! For thy 
jcAvels and thy state, oh ! be it not forgotten, are worthless dust, 
the prey of fleeting hours; but the grateful tears of but one 
saved, will hereafter beam for thee in Eternity, as a star from 
the dark past, and the sob of those made happy by thee, 
will be heard by God, the Rewarder of all ! — As long as there 
is in thy community but a single individual who must go 
without the barest necessaries of life, thou hast no right to this 
superfluity; so long as one unhappy being still moans, who 
by thee could be assisted, thou hast no right to joy. 

Think of those who are dependant on you. — God made you 
who are richer than they, not only the treasurers of their share 



ON GOD. 



in the universal lilessing, which He has destined for His 
creatures, but also their guardians and educators. And 
thus as the wisdom of God spurred you on, by the want of 
different necessities, to unfold your strength by noble activity, 
for your own weal and that of others ; so should you also lead 
those who are dependant on you, to a wise use of their powers. 

In the sweat of thy brow, thou shalt eat thy 
BREAD ! — was Jehovah's exclamation to the race of mortals at 
the threshold of lost Paradise. The idler is unworthy of his 
life, because he knows not how to live. Just as it is a shame 
for the opulent to allow his day to flow uselessly onward, as if 
he were but an animal, who fattens his life for death j so 
also idleness is the greatest crime of the poor. The inactive 
beggar is the most imprudent dissipator, for he dissipates the 
treasure of irrevocable time. Whoever, supports by gifts 
and doles, the idleness of sturdy beggars, shares in their 
transgression, and becomes an accomplice in the murder of their 
souls, and an abettor of all the vice which idleness entices. 

Give no alms to him, who deserves them not. 
Guard against pauperism by charitable institutions, by 
means of which, even the most undeserving may be put into a 
position to work. Whether thou castest thy property into a 
bottomless stream, or into the hand of an idler, it is all the 
same — thou despoilest the state, makest the industrious poorer, 
and cherishest secret vice. Immense sums are annually wasted 
in alms in towns and villages, which are thrown to beggars. 
Each single household, indeed, esteems but lightly each single 
small gift; but from constantly falling drops, springs arise; 
from springs, brooks and rivers. Where alms, from imprudent 
charity, are distributed the most freely, there poverty ceases 
not ; but, as experience proves, pauperism increases. 

In thy congregation aid institutions tending to the useful 
occupation of the poor, and, where these institutions exist not, 



90 



OUE, DEPENDANCE. 



use thy endeavours to commence them— and this will be alms 
which avail before God. And if thou art not able to do it, go 
thyself and look from hut to hut, watch helpless families in 
their silent grief, become their counsellor, obtain them the 
means of getting their livelihood by v/ork, interest friends for 
them, be their protecting angel in word and deed. — These are 
alms, availing in the sight of God. 

The piety of our ancestors founded again and 
again, richly endowed alms-houses, and alas! changed 
them, but too often, into houses of idleness and vice. But the 
atmosphere of these places becomes most dangerous to the 
innocent orphan children who live therein. — They but too often 
leave the house of charity, well in body, but poisoned in 
mind — for frequently does it happen that the inmates of orphan- 
houses become the most useless members of society. Hence, 
improve the bad ! This will be alms, availing in the sight 
of God. 

In deepest dependance on thee, live thy fellow-creatures, 
who cannot help themselves: sick paupers; aged persons, 
infirm through length of years j children without protection, 
without counsel, without education, and without maintenance. 
Oh refuse not these thy gifts of love ! Thou wilt hear of 
them, thou wilt see them — think it is Eternal Providence, 
w^hich has brought them to thine eye and ear. Thou hast 
been chosen their father, their mother, their patron. — 
Forget them not. God has not forgotten thee. But the penny 
which thou throwest to them for charity, suifices not — for it 
is not alms, but only a purchase of thy discharge from the 
sight of misery, or a debt of honor which thou pay est thy good 
name. — No, be charitable! — With thy jewels, buy them a tear 
of joy; make for the needy and destitute the bed of death a 
bed of down; refresh the poor and aged, in the last hours of his 
care-worn life, with the wine which thy guests used to waste, 



ON GOD. 91 

and the dainties which they used to spoil, when appetite they 
had none. Give unto the neglected beggar-boy a cherishing 
father, a mother, that he may again taste the joys of youth. 
The maintenance of this orphan costs no more than the 
sacrifice of some few festivities during the year, which will 
never afford thee so happy a remembrance in the hour of death, 
as will the sight of the weeping and blessing eye of thy ward. 
These are alms, which avail before God. 

Oh! Father, oh! thou Ever-blessing, Ever-bountiful God, 
have I up to this time always done, what I should have 
done, so that I can call myself. Thy worthy child? Have 
I, rendered happy by Thee, and Thy mercies, fulfilled, to the 
best of my ability, the object of my existence ? Have I not 
oftentimes hardened my heart, by thinking that I had merely 
enough for my own different wants ? Ah ! why did I allow myself 
so many superfluities, which wasted a great part of the bounty, 
by which Thou madest me glad ? Why was it not always my 
chief desire to alleviate the distress of my brethren, and dry 
the tears of the deserted? 

My Father ! so indeed should it be ! — I will reap on earth 
for my poor brethren, and share Thy bounty with them. 
By their prayers they will lay up a harvest for me with Thee. 
Oh ! beautiful exchange ! what I did unto the poorest of my 
brethren, I did for God — I did it for myself I shall then 
pray more joyously to Thee — ^* Give me my daily bread." I 
shall then beg it also for my brethrens' sake. 

Oh ! Thou to Whom I owe my all ; on Whom every 
moment of my existence, my joy, and sorrow, and that of my 
whole family depend — be ever near me with Thy grace and Thy 
assistance, whilst I, as far as my own sphere of action extends, 
will leave no sufferer unaided. 



MAN, AND HIS DEEDS. 

PROVERBS, xvi. 3. 



How proud, oh ! mortal, art thou grown ! how boastful of thy power ! 
And victory sits upon thy brow, in the joy of the present hour ; 
Thou think'st not of the future now— but ah ! a breath of air 
Thou canst not gi-asp, has laid thee low, in ruin and despair, 

Thine eagle's eye— thy lion's power— on these thou may'st depend, 
But yet thy schemes, however planned, full oft in failure end ; 
Thou hast the will— from God alone the counsel must proceed— 
Thou hast the will— but God alone, 'tis He must do the deed. 

Who guides the heavens, and Who can drive all joy or grief away. 
Command our lot, and keep the heart of nations 'neath His sway ? 
We have the will— from God alone the counsel must proceed— 
We have the will— but God alone, 'tis He must do the deed. 



It is in vain ! We strive and seek for a better state of 
things, and work against the stream of events, but the waves 
of life beat high over us, and break, but alas ! too often, our 
power. How many thousand projects have I not made since 
my childhood, how many thousand hopes have determined me 
to thousand different acts! And what has become of the 
hundreds of projects and thousand hopes? Oftentimes a day 
hath seen them arise and die ; often I firmly and faithfully 
bore them with me from one year to another, and ceased not; 
and finally, when I believed I was near the goal, a little, in 
itself, invisible circumstance, threw me again far from my 
object; and I gave up with pain the hope which for whole 
years had delighted and deceived me. 

If I think on the hours of my childhood, oh how 
different was every thing then ! How eagerly did I desire 



MAK, AND HIS DEEDS. 93 

now to be this, now that ; now to have the one thing, now the 
other! Of a thousand hopes, not one was fulfilled; one 
displaced the other; blooms laughed in rich luxuriance — but 
there came a slight breath of heaven, and the blooms fell off; 
in vain I looked around for the fruit. 

And I grew older, and my sensations became only the more 
susceptible; new desires were awakened in my breast, more 
shining plans were made, and ornamented with all the magic of 
which a warm imagination is capable. Behold the maiden, how 
she delights herself with quiet dreams of her future state, and 
strives after the aim of her secret wishes. Behold the youth, who 
in the high feelings of his liberty and power, sees the whole world 
lie open in its splendour before him, and believes himself able 
to attain all and every object. Then compare with these, still 
happy in their power of imagination, man, housewife, and mother, 
arrived at years of riper judgment. They already walk more 
sedately and soberly alongside the crops which they have sown, of 
which thousands died in the germ, and thousands grew up only to 
be swept away by some unexpected blast, before they arrived at 
maturity. Alas ! of her children, who should have been her 
pride, the best beloved already lie in the grave; of the friends 
with whom she hoped to lead a happy life, more than half 
have vanished from her side; of the prosperity, of the sphere of 
action on which she reckoned, scarce a shadow has appeared. 

Foiled, the aged man wanders on to the end of his days. 
The past is a land of illusions, the future a land of hopes. 
He directs his look above this life, to the place where illusions 
must end, and he says : " once I had the lion's power, I had 
giant's courage, I had prudence, and iron application — but my 
best intention was frustated, and my exertions had quite different 
results to those I desired. " 

It is true, it seems, that all have not fared as I have. 
It appears that many have accomplished their purposes, and 



94 



MAN, AND 



have attained what they wished to attain, and have become 
what they w'ished to become. But if I search more narrowly 
into the circumstances of their life, I shall, nevertheless, 
with astonishment discover that they contributed in the very least 
degree to what they obtained; that by particular circumstances 
they were favoured in an extraordinary manner, so that matters 
often happened to them quite contrary to their intentions, 
and afterv/ards turned out to their advantao*e: that 
nature and man co-operated to enrich them, to elevate them, 
to give them renown, importance, power, and influence; 
whilst others, who were formerly far more powerful, richer, 
and more honored, then they, have seen all their power and 
prudence stranded, and have fallen from their former height. 

The observation, how disproportioned the result of human 
deeds is, and how mortals are generally forced to tread 
a path quite different to that they were willing to enter — this 
observation has ever occupied the attention and speculation of 
men. Hence many nations of ancient times, with imperfect 
notions of the Deity, believed in a blind or secret ruling fate, 
which without knowing the worth or vileness of men 
and their designs, of its own will played with them as with 
inanimate machines. 

The wiser Christian, with a nobler recognition of God, 
judges otherwise of the All-wise and Almighty Lord of 
the universe. — It is not blind fate, which, without knowing 
itself, and without order, plays with the weal and woes 
of man ; but an Almighty Wisdom, which wonderfully 
guides the whole as the individual, the fate of the smallest worm, 
as of the greatest people, in order that every thing may be 
well maintained, and led to a higher state of perfection. 

Man has nothing in his powee less than himself. 
Nothing less than himsele; and even that which is the most 
closely allied to him, even his body is not wholly in his power. 



HIS DEEDS. 95 

He himself, the human mind, belongs to himself. — Only the 
mind has a will. — It can exercise command over itself. — It can 
determine on its better views, pondering over the ways of its 
prudence, to do and to act according to the eternal laws of God, 
or determine to do exactly the opposite to all this, only to obey 
the attractions of sensual desires. If thou wishest thy 
undertakings to be hallowed by the blessing of God, begin 
them not, unless influenced by the best and holiest desires to 
bring about good and useful results. Expect no assistance 
from the All-living Father, nor His arrangement of the world, 
if full of malice, thou plannest revenge against thy fellow- 
creatures. And though thou mayest successfully carry it out, 
think not, that it may be conducive to thy welfare. Others 
thou hast injured, but thyself the most. If thou ask the 
blessing of God, ask it not for black designs. 

But in order to insure to thy undertakings the full approval 
of God, and to obtain their fulfilment, it suffices not that thou 
art influenced by the best and purest motives. We must also 
reflect, whether our intentions though well-meant, be suited 
to the circumstances and events which surround us; for they 
likewise are God's work and God's will j and for that 
reason our Heavenly Father gave us understanding, that, 
before we commenced an undertaking, we m'ight properly 
acquaint ourselves with the circumstances under which we 
intend to carry it out ; that we might thoroughly probe it, and 
calculate what facilities or obstacles we are likely to 
meet with in its execution. Whoever acts directly contrary 
to all circumstances and appearances, runs like a madman 
against the iron gratings that surround him; whoever, with 
all goodness of purpose, acts heedlessly and without reflection, 
must attribute it to his own fault, if what he does produces 
harm rather than good. For he neglected to attend to the will 
of God, which plainly expressed itself in the attending events 



96 



MAN, AND 



of life. He is like unto the imprudent, who in order to wash 
himself, plunges into the absorbing whirlpool of a stream, and 
hopes for assistance from God, in that, from which through 
imprudence evil may arise. 

Only when thou art fully convinced of the goodness of 
thy design, and that thou canst produce by it, harm and 
injury to no man ; only when thou hast carefully formed and 
arranged thy plans according to existing circumstances, with 
which thou art not fully acquainted j only then recommend 
thy works unto the Lord, and thy plans shall prosper. Only 
then hope for the blessing of the Most High, and it will come 
to thee, if the success of thy plans can really further thy 
welfare. 

For however deeply human scrutiny may pry into the 
infinitely perplexed combination of events and possibilities; 
however accurately human prudence may understand, arrange, 
and make use of what it knows — it still, ever remains confined, 
nor even dreams of a thousand matters, which come forth from 
the womb of the next hour. — Thus the enterprise, even of 
the wisest man, lies always in the power of God ; and never can 
mortal attribute to his own merit, the results of his deed — - 
they are the affairs of an All-ruling Providence. 

Therefore, if thy intention be pure, and thy consideration 
mature, as far as thy understanding extends, then go and act, 
and commend thy works unto the Lord, with that reliance 
on the kindness of the Great Father of all, which is becoming 
the wise man. Thy will is good, but the will of the Most- 
Wise is better. 

Father, Who art in heaven, not my will, but Thine, be 
done. — Thus Jesus, my Saviour, prayed to Thee : thus I also 
pray. And if my will so coincide with thine, that it 
blooms in deeds rich in blessings both for me and others j oh, 
then let not this make me proud of my prudence and power— 



HIS DEEDS. 97 

how futile are these ! But let me be much gratified thereat, 
and let it encourage me to study industriously the plans Thou 
hast laid for the happiness of myself and others. — And if in 
other matters Thou bless not my exertions ; if my sobs be in 
vain, and my troubles and cares prove fruitless -, let not this 
dishearten me, nor cause me to doubt Thy mercy and love. — 
For though what I intended has not happened, love and 
mercy are likewise from Thee. — Oh, what blessings from 
Thy paternal love come unto me, and I do not even know or 
suspect it ! My heart, it is true, may often bleed, when I see 
all the hopes and joys of many a year suddenly blasted, when 
I see inexpressible labor and trouble completely lost, and 
bearing no fruits for me — when my most ardent and dearest 
wishes fade away unfulfilled, and even the much feared 
contrary of these becomes my lot. Yet though my feelings 
bleed, my mind, oh God ! shall glorify and praise Thee ; 
my eye, though filled with tears of pain, shall gratefully and 
confidingly look up to Thee ; for Thou art God, my God. In 
Thee alone are wisdom and mercy. From Thee alone blessings 
descend on all created beings, and what at the present is 
doubted, will be received with veneration in the coming year; 
for Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, 
for ever, and ever. Amen. 



END OF THE YEAR. 

ECCLESIASTES, ix. 9. 



Oh! God— how quick, as lightning's flash, 

Our days and hours have flown— 
Into Eternity have sped, 

Or ere we thought them gone; 
Grant then we may— long as we live- 
Each hour unto Thy service give. 

Sow we on earth— to reap in heaven, 

A harvest of rich gain ; 
For happy he— who feeleth sure 

He hath not lived in vain; — 
Well hath he sown— there is in store— 
What he may reap— when life is o'er. 



A gleam of light fell on the high mountain — a drop of 
water into the ocean — a year into the abyss of past Eternities. 
They are lost. Where seek I, where find I them again ? 

A YEAR ! Truly an imperceptible point in the infinite 
line of time, but still an important section of my own life. 
I reckon my existence on earth by years ; and I have already 
so many years less to live ! Who knows whether I shall 
see the end of one or two more ! Who, of all mortals, will be 
surety that the winterly snows after twelve or perhaps four 
and twenty months, will not drift over my tomb ? How large, 
how unfathomable does not a year seem to me in its opening ! 
How long unfriendly winter seems to last ! Beauteous spring 
with its robe of flowers I scarcely can expect ! Then the 
numerous enjoyments in fields, in gardens, or on pleasant 



END OF THE YEAR. yy 

travels ! — Then how late comes autumn with its harvest-home 
and vine-gathering — the mass of days and hours, events 
and accidents, joyous moments and friendships. — The year 
cannot be overlooked. It scarcely seems to come to an end. 

How fleeting, how small — more than small ! As nothing 
is a year when we are at its end ! What have I had in it ? 
In what is it different from every other dream? What I was, 
I am now no more ! Every thing that I have had and 
enjoyed during this twelve month's long dream, I now neither 
have, nor enjoy ! Nearly all is gone, and what still remains 
for me, will in like manner pass away. 

And the longer I live, the shorter is life. The older I 
grow, the shortei' is my space of years. A year ago, or new- 
year's day — it seems to me not to have been three hundred 
days ago, but as yesterday ! I still see my whole day's 
work ; I even remember the very words of my friends ; I still 
well know where each stood. And then the several 
events in the whole course of the year — it seems to me as if 
they happened but yesterday. And if I calculate, I am 
astonished that since then so many weeks and months have 
passed away. How fleeting, how like nothing is a year; how 
fleeting my life ! And when I have once finished, I shall 
feel as if I had not lived. But it is in vain — all deception 
flees. Seventy and eighty years are at last as a dream of 
seventy or eighty minutes. 

Thousands of my fellow-creatures have experienced the 
same feelings as myself, convinced of the rapid course of time 
at the end of a year. But not a fcAv are rejoiced that every 
thing passes so fleetingly away : and that, not because they 
are wearied of life, but because they desire the new and 
unknown. What they have enjoyed and experienced seems 
not so important to them as what they may yet live to see. 
They seem to love, and to continue their life, merely 

H2 



100 



END OF 



from curiosity. Their longing looks are always directed 
thither, where the gay children of imagination, such as 
dreams, expectations, and hopes, are ever flitting before them. 
Back upon the past they wish not to look. To the past they are 
indifferent j the enjoyed is wearisome to them. The present 
they scarce take time to enjoy, nor deign to honour with 
attentive consideration. They are ever framing new projects. 
Their whole life is constant expectation — a perpetual hunting 
after new objects. At the end of their days, exhausted by 
their fruitless labor, they decline, feel that they have not lived, 
and wish to begin to live again when they have ceased to live. 

Really, children who enjoy the present moment in its full 
intensity with all that it affords, without grief for the past, 
or curiosity or anxiety for the future, understand much better 
how to LIVE than many an aged man. For they have not 
been as yet wrongly educated, but have all the frankness of 
nature about them. The grown-up man but too often 
turns aside with restless art and trouble from the simplicity 
and truth of nature. Children see and enjoy life in full 
measure, as it is given them. The grown-up, but too often 
carried away by an impetuous passion, fly as speedily past 
the pleasures of existence, as life, quick as lightning, in 
its turn flies past them. These invalids of soul, ever seeking 
riches, esteem not the gifts of Jjeaven which have fallen to 
their lot, but parched and thirsty, hurry past the richest 
springs which bubble near them. They anxiously wish for 
dignity and glory, but the esteem with which they could be 
surrounded, they scarcely observe; nothing is sufficient for 
them. Whoever always seeks for an object, never carries 
one out. 

In truth, man should learn the art of life from children, 
to whom the next moment, is always the best object ! 
They always receive with joyous mind the smallest gift which 



THE YEAR. 101 

comes to them, and oppose themselves to pain which suddenly 
grieves them, and which will be forgotten as soon as it is past. 
Therefore, likewise did Jesus, the great master of wisdom and 
life, teach: rejoice in the moment, and trouble not yourself 
with vain dreams! — "Take therefore no thought for the 
morrow : for the morrow shall take thought for the things 
of itself. " (Matt. vi. 34.) 

The real art of life, as exercised by the wise man, does 
not consist in ever and unexclusively hunting after a better 
lot, but in endeavouring to win the better side of present 
circumstances and events, and in enjoying them in all the grace 
of which they are susceptible. What the present hour gives 
thee, that only thou hast, and of that thou art certain. What the 
future will extend to thee, is unknown. Despise not the pure 
enjoyment of each day, which the Lord has permitted thee to 
live ; else poor and miserable with unquenched desire, thou 
wilt go thy way to the grave. Hope, indeed, for the better ; 
but never forget the good in the possession of which 
THOTJ ALREADY ART; think of the past, but. let it encourage 
thee to enjoy the present, better than time past. In 
these few words lies the germ of the wisdom of life. 

The brute animal cares not for the future, nor troubles 
itself about the past. But nobler, more divine, is the nature of 
man. He lives to many more purposes than the animal ; he 
lives at once for present, past, and future. And man must 
DO so ! He becomes like the animal, when, without reference 
to his end, he only revels in the present. But a fool is he 
when, for the future's sake, he fears to enjoy the present; 
be is a murderer of his life, when from grief for the past and 
gone, he neglects and destroys the present and future. 

The wise man lives for that, which was, which is, and 
which WILL BE. From the experience of former years and 
days, he gains courage, prudence, wisdom, and desire, to use 



102 END or 

that rightly which he possesses at the present hour. But he 
uses the present with such moderation and prudent forethought, 
that he sows to-day, what he will reap to-morrow, and that 
later repentance cannot embitter to-day's joy. 

Thus will I also at the end of the year, through which 
God has permitted me to live, cast mine eye upon the past, 
the present, and the future, so that I may be enabled to enter 
upon the new year, if not a happy man, at least as one 
deserving of happiness. Thus I will also balance my account 
with the past, that I may judge the more clearly what is still 
left me after many a loss, to be applied to the use of a better, 
a wiser future. 

I WILL ABOVE ALL THINGS AS A GOOD HoUSE-FaTHEK, 
INQUIRE INTO THE STATE OE ANY EAETHLY PKOPEETY 
WHICH MAY HAVE FALLEN TO MY SHARE, BY MY OWN 
INDUSTRY AND THE BLESSING OF GoD. Tllis I mUSt 

do, in order that I may live and act freely, and independently 
of all human compassion. Unsettled times, scarcity and war, 
may also plunge me into difficulties and poverty, if I neglect 
my affairs, and inquire not how far my property extends, and 
how much I owe to other persons. I am bound to this 
investigation of the state of my affairs, by the care which 
as father or mother, I must show to those who belong unto 
me. I am bound to this serious scrutiny for the sake of the 
honor of my relations, and my own good name ! For without 
the confidence and esteem of men I am crippled on earth, and 
cannot do as much good by word and deed, as, by God's will, 
I am designed to do. 

From the examination of my property at the end of the year, 
I shall discover whether my earthly circumstances have bettered 
or grown worse. I shall discover whether I may continue 
without danger my present mode of life ; continue the show I 
made during the past year; or whether I must not retrench the 



THE YEAR. 103 

mass of my expenditure, and become more frugal for the weal 
of myself and my family, especially in times when scarcity or 
continuous war every Avhere diminishes domestic prosperity. 

I will not however let the inquiry stop here, but seriously 
prosecute it further. I will find out what necessities can be 
best spared. And they shall be saved, with the beginning of 
a new year, though difficult it be at first. And if in the end I 
can only save trifles by it, still I am so much the wealthier. 
I shall then still have some, if it be but a small gain, with 
which I can gratify other persons, unhappy brethren, who have 
less even than myself. And what joy will it be to me, if with 
my moderate fortune, I shall become more charitable than the 
rich who lives in the fulness of his riches ; if I so faithfully 
administer that which God has lent me, that I can with it also 
further the happiness of other persons. 

Yea, the end of the year is at hand ! I will arrange my 
household. And though the end of the year be also the end of 
my life, I will leave all things in such order, that those who 
remain after my death, shall honour and bless me. I will be a 
perfect Christian in all things; I will be prepared every day to 
go hence, without reproach, from my earthly state, and enter 
into Eternity. For Christ, when dying He bled on the cross, 
still provided for his weeping mother that she should not be 
deserted on earth. (John, xix. 19, 26.) 

Not satisfied with arranging my household at the end of 
the year, I will seek a quiet hour of solitude, and coisrsiDER 

ALL THE CIRCUMSTANCES IN V7HICH I LIVE J will probc fully 

my situation, and inquire how I shall be able to avoid in future 
all unpleasantness in it, in a manner both consistent and 
honorable. 

It is true that in my present state of affairs many things 
are inconvenient and annoying. But whence arise these 
matters, which cause me so much annoyance? Are my 



104 



END OF 



circumstances, as God has appointed tliem, to blame? Or 
have I given them the greatest cause through my levity, 
pertinacity, imprudence, obstinacy, pride, sensuality, or other 
vices of my heart? And how shall I uproot these evils, 
which cause me more than one bad hour? Can I change 
my circumstances? Or must I change myself? Yea, 
this is the more probable ! For whatever be my situation, if 
matters round about me be but properly attended to, every 
thing will come right. Had I but a pure heart and a 
joyous conscience, what would disturb my serenity. 

At the end of the year, in examining my situation on all 
sides, I will at the same time ask myself: how art thou as 

EEGAEDS THOSE MEN, WITH AVHOM God's PeOVIDENCE 

HAS BEOiTGHT THEE INTO CONTACT ? Hast thou morc fricuds 
to-day than thou hadst a year ago? Hast thou been 
able, by means of thy behaviour, to obtain at last from those 
acquainted with thee, more confidence, more esteem, than 
thou hast enjoyed before ? Has the confidence of thy fellow 
citizens, of thy superiors, of thy relations, of thy dependants, 
increased or diminished towards thee? And if thou now 
discoverest that it has not increased, oh ! then thy true 
happiness has likewise received no real increment; then thou 
hast scarcely grown much more perfect in the course of a 
year. And whose then is the fault? Canst thou on that 
account accuse others ? Art thou not the one who must cover 
himself with reproaches ? Dost thou hear the voice of thy 
conscience, relating to thee thy faults ? Lay thy hand on thy 
heart; examine thyself. 

Yea, not only will I examine my household, and my 
outward circumstances at the end of the year, but I 'will also 

PROBE MY HEART IN THE PRESENCE OF GoD ! I will SCC llOW 

my present character is constituted ; will observe whether my 
mode of thinking and acting has not undergone any change 



THE YEAK. 105 

within the last year. For persons never remain completely the 
same ; we grow older and richer in experience. I have met 
with much good and bad fortune during the last twelve 
months ; such experience has always some influence on our 
mind. 

And how am I now ? how do I think ? how do I act ? 
God is near, the Omnipresent ; God, the Omniscient, looks 
through thee ! Wouldst thou deceive Him, Who can see 
better through thee, than thou canst through a drop of 
water? Wouldst thou deceive and cheat thyself? What 
foolishness ! 

I will seek an hour before the year passes, in 
which I can be given quite to myself, and in which no other 
matters may disturb me in my meditations, and I will then sit 
in judgment on my bad habits, my faults, and vices, on 
the whole string of my evil inclinations and secret sins. I 
will judge, before the Lord judges them. I will show myself 
in what I am failing and weak ^ without lenity I will lay open 
before me, my faults. Then speak aloud, inward judge, 
stern conscience sensible of my sins — God heareth thee ! 

And it must needs be at last that I shall learn to 
appreciate properly at the end of the year my merits and 
demerits. I must put in I'eview all my faults, for they are 
indeed the sources of all vexation. I must know the obstacles 
to my content, the disturbers of my peace. Shall I 
during the whole of the future year, be again their slave ? 
Shall I not in the future year, become as perfect, as noble, and 
as replete with innate virtue, as I could, and should be, to be 
called a child of God, a brother of Jesus ? I cannot conceal 
it from myself, that, if often in the greater part of my past 
lifetime I have been unhappy, yea truly unhappy, it for the 
most part has resulted from my own weakness. For I either 
by these means caused myself much unpleasantness and sorrow, 



106 END OE 

or I still further embittered the unpleasant and sad events of 
life, in as much as I received them not with strength of soul, 
but allowed myself through them to be too violently urged on 
to anger, passion, caprice, and oftentimes to the greatest sorrow. 
I foolishly placed too great value on that which was but frail 
and perishable. I could bear no earthly loss with indifference 
and firmness of mind, although I could bear at all times without 
great vexation my faults and w^eaknesses, though they were 
loss of my magnanimity of soul. 

I will endeavour in the future year to change my 
mode of thinking and acting, and will try to discover 
whether I cannot become great in the midst of all evils, happy 
under all circumstances that may fall to my lot. — I will do 
nothing but what is good, righteous, and pleasing to God ; in 
the morning I will sow my seed, and in the evening withhold 
not my hand, for I know not which shall prosper, this or that, 
or whether they shall both be alike good. (Eccles. xi. 6.) 

Thus I will conclude my year in a Christian manner; 
and may the end of all I do, be to make an oblation of thanks 
to the Most High, for all the blessings and love 
He has so profusely shewn me and my dear family 
in the past year. 

Could I forget, oh ! my Father in heaven, oh ! my God, 
that Thou in the past hast been my Father and my God ? Could 
I forget the mercy that Thou hast shown, the grace that Thou 
hast vouchsaved me ? — And was I worthy of this love and 
fidelity? Have I, by means of my virtue and holiness, 
merited such favor ? Oh ! no, I have failed so often, that I 
never deserved it. And if I had the virtues of an angel, I 
could not make any just pretensions to Thy favor, I should 
not through them have made Thee my debtor. They are 
not my works, but the works of Thy unfathomable mercy, 
which bring me happiness and blessing. 



I 



THE YEAR. 107 

I thank Thee, and may ardent inward thanks from my 
soul be given unto Thee in the last hours of this year 5 oh 
most merciful God! Thanks for Thy forbearance with my 
sinfulness ! Thanks for thousand single joys with which Thou 
hast refreshed me ! Thanks for Thy paternal aid, which was 
often nearest when my need was the sorest, and when I, 
despairing, could see no way of escape from my misery! 
Thanks unto Thee for the power with which Thou didst equip 
me for good, though I alas ! did not always apply it to 
that object. Thanks unto Thee for Thy protecting care, 
which often saved me and mine from impending danger. 
Thanks too. Father ! Father, for the pains that I suffered in 
the past year, and which were heavenly messengers to 
admonish me of Thee, of my higher duties, and of my 
right to Eternity. Yea, I have at last learnt by manifold 
experience : Thou art love j Thou only art the Creator 
of good : In Thy world there is no evil, except the sin we 
ourselves commit ! Only our sins, our weaknesses, introduce 
unhappiness into life. 

Gone is a year of life ! Oh, that I could cloak the sins 
with which I have stained it ! Mercy, Father, mercy, that 
they prove not witnesses against me, before Thy holy 
throne ! — A new year begins ; a newer, a better man, I will now 
enter into this futurity. Also in this dark futurity. Thou 
art my God, my Protector, my Father! Desert me not! 
Desert not, with Thy meecy, my beloved Family ! Desert 
not my country ! Desert not those placed in office above me ! 
Amen. 



BEGINNING OF THE NEW YEAR. 

PSALM xlvi. 11. 



Another year Thy guiding hand, 

Thy servant, Lord, hath led ; 
Thine aiding grace Thou didst supply, 

When sorrow bowed my head ; 
Here then my grateful voice I raise, 
And sing with heartfelt joy thy praise; 
And once again renew my vow. 
But guide me ever. Lord, as now. 

With blessings rife oh ! be this year, 

Which Thou hast given me; 
And grant that I— for Thine's the power- 
May happy live in Thee ; 
When rude the storm— when dark the night- 
Be Thou my strength— be Thou my light; 
The loved ones of my heart defend, 
Be Thou their hope— be Thou their friend. 

Grant I (if such Thy holy will) 
The sweets of life may share; 
But if the world's bright joys should hann. 

Then welcome grief and pain ; 
Only do Thou keep pure my heart, 
Only do Thou Thy strength impart; 
Then greatest pains, which most annoy. 
Will prove the source of greatest joy. 



How timidly the hearts of millions beat! They are 
excited by fear and hope. Few wish to take a retrospect of 
the past ; most look into the future with inquiry, anxiety, and 
sadness. — What will the new-beginning year bring us? or 
rather, what will it take from us ? What will become of us 
after another twelve months ? what, of our families ? Have 



BEGINNING OF THE NEW YEAR. 109 

we already overcome the greatest misfortunes of life, or do 
they yet remain to be conquered ? Would not many a one 
now wish to look into the obscurity of near, yet unknown 
times! Whom shall we ask? — Dumb is the creature. — God 
veils its visage. 

The SUFFERER, his courage already broken by former 
misfortunes, trembles from fear of still greater. — The 
FORTUNATE, who secs the fulfilments of many a hope at hand, 
grows startled at the thought that an unexpected event may 
wholly and completely destroy all the visionary castles he 
has built. 

Oh ! how pardonable are man's anxieties ! — But must we 
on that account, perish, before our time, from fear and despair? 
No, as wise men, we shall arm ourselves with courage 

AGAINST ALL THAT MAY HAPPEN. But truC COUragC is UOt 

that levity, which, without looking at the dark side of the 
danger, sports with, and allows itself to be unexpectedly 
surprised by it; nor yet is true courage that all-doubting despair, 
which, blindfold without hope and forethought, runs into the 
jaws of want ; but the courage of the sage consists in that 
fearlessness which proceeds from the conviction, that even the 
most terrible is not invincible ; and in boldness, resulting from 
the knowledge of means and ways of counteracting dangers on 
their approach, so that they do not engulph us. 

Common men, who without dominion over themselves, 
stand and act in the storm of times, only as the impulse of the 
moment bids them, without a higher plan, without the 
sublime judgment of the wise, are accustomed to replace the 
courage wanting unto them by two entirely opposite ways. — 
For in such unfortunate times courage is necessary to them ; 
this they daily experience. 

The one partly because their temperament is of that 
nature, wish not to incommode themselves for what may come ; 



110 BEGINNING OF 

they deceive themselves v^^ith fine expectations ; they believe 
in the appearance of the most improbable events, which are to 
put an end to all their necessities ; they see not, and believe 
not, what lies plainly before their eyes ; they explain every thing 
differently, and more to their advantage, than it really is ; they 
live after a fortunate day, as they lived before it, and intoxicate 
with phantasies, that can never be fulfilled, their sound 
understanding. — These are like unto navigators, whose ship, 
tossed by the wild storm, heaves on the abyss that threatens 
destruction, and who, to see not the danger, stupify themselves 
with spirituous drinks. Unprepared for the strokes of fortune, 
they will afterwards be the more severely attacked by them. — 
Their severity then changes itself so much the more quickly 
into dumb despair. — So much the more downcast wilt thou 
see them in the days of adversity, the bolder their laughing 
levity was before. 

The others perhaps by nature of a despairing temperament, 
think it the wisest plan, always to expect the worst for the 
future. — In the most trifling events, they recognise the 
precursors of some evil or other. They incessantly torture 
themselves with fearful apprehensions ; hear immaterial news 
with suspicion, joyous messages with distrust, bad reports with 
credulity. Persons of this turn of mind already suffer every 
evil before it happens, are overcome and unnerved by the 
danger, before the actual combat has commenced. — They are 
like unto warriors, who from fear of the possibility of a near 
engagement strengthen themselves neither with nourishment 
nor sleep, and are already wearied and conquered, before the 
enemy approaches. 

That is not the courage of the wise man with which he 
should arm himself for the reception of impending misfortunes. 

But where shall I find the noble courage, which shall 
sustain me in the most trying moments ? 



THE NEW YEAR. Ill 

Thou wilt not find it in thy flesh and blood, not in the 
earthly, not in thy agreeable expectations, nor in thy custom of 
fearing the worst. True courage must spring from thyself — 
from thy mind. Thou must convince thyself, that he has not 
lost much, who has not as yet lost himself. Thou must 
convince thyself that thy soul is all, and that every thing 
earthly given unto thee, thy office, thy income, thy property, 
thy appearance, and thy convenience are nought. Thou 
must convince thyself, that the peace of thy mind, is 
properly, what thou callest happiness, what thou seekest with 
so much trouble, and which thou findest neither in money, nor 
in dignities, nor in outward advantages. If thou canst not be 
happy, whether thou be high or low, poor or rich, esteemed or 
misjudged, then thou wilt never be so, then thou deservest to 
be unhappy, so that thou mayest in the end learn to raise 
thyself. 

But if thou hast attained the object, if thou hast found 
thyself; if thou feelest that thy soul on earth is already in the 
land of spirits, and not in the animal world, that is but 
dependant on dust ; if in complete poverty thou canst remain 
in a serene temper, and if, though despised by great masses, 
thou canst preserve a noble self-esteem ; then, oh ! mind 
thou hearest, thou comprehendest other voices, than those which 
speak from out the dust ; then, oh ! mind in thy divine nature, 
thou hearest not with consternation of the destruction of nations, 
of the destruction of thy earthly property, of the danger of 
thy body and life, but thou hearest the voice of God sounding 
over the bloody, fearful tempest of the world, as it speaks from 
Holy Writ. ( Psalm xlvi. 11. ) 

Be still ! for it is not the act of man, neither his power, 
nor wisdom, which has caused whatever has happened, or may 
happen in the year just commenced ; but it is another Who 
has caused it, even the Most High, at Whose nod the starry 



112 BEGII^NING OF 

worlds of the firmament must seek their courses, and the 
smallest worms of the dust their way. It is He, and there is 
no other God than God. 

He ruleth, ever inexpressibly great and wise, and 
omnipresent ! None other rules with Him in Eternity. Thou 
mayest fearfully tremble, or submissively await and receive 
His decrees; thou mayest mourn over, or be consoled for 
miscarried plans ; thou mayest despair of the past or the future, 
or else rejoice on account of it, but it is all in vain. Thy tears 
and sorrows, thy gratification and joy, change nothing in the 
Eternal arrangement of the world. His purposes will be 
accomplished whether mortals recognise them or not — 
whether they praise or blame. A golden throne, or a small 
ant-hill, what do these appear in the eye of the Most 
High but dust, of which they were formed by men and ants ? 
Why, then, oh mortal ! since thy fear cannot save, nor thy 
anxiety prevent, dost thou tremble for what may take place in 
the new year, either to thy country, thy own family, or thyself. 
Oh ! mind of more than earthly mould, raise thyself to the 
High and Heavenly One, Who eternally ruleth, and with pious 
resignation thou wilt enter into His dispensations. Perform 
in this world thy duties as father or mother, as dependant 
or master, as citizen, as a man and a Christian, and for the 
rest fear not. Perform thy duties, for these belong to thee, 
and not unto the arrangement of the world. 

Be still and know that I am God ! The Almighty 
ruleth ! Thou, who now lookest with despair upon the coming 
days of the new year, hast not thou recognised the hand of God 
in the days gone by, and the fortunes they brought with 
them ? — It is He, Who ruleth in Eternity, and assigns to every 
one his object and his aim, and to every power its limits. It 
is He Who is the God of armies and days of joy, in Whose 
sight nothing is great and nothing small. He produces the 



THE NEW YEAE. 113 

most extraordinary results by means wliich seem to mortals 
but very insignificant, and carries out the most wonderful 
designs, by an every-day event. Hence, therefore, is He 
God — and there is no Almighty beside Him. 

And thousands and millions go their road, and witness 
the most unexampled occurrences, and hear of the most 
uncommon circumstances, and yet become not inclined to a 
more sublime mode of thought. Their reflections scarcely 
touch on God. They say: well is it that it has happened so, 
let us rejoice ! — Thus the animal walks on and eats the seed that 
lies on the ground, and looks not up to the branch, from which 
the kindly food fell. It is incapable of elevation of thought. 
It lives to be satiated, and being satiated, to become ripe for 
death. Is it otherwise with the man, who, without looking on 
high, can see nought but the event of the present moment ? 

And thousands and millions have seen that become possible 
which seemed impossible to the greatest wisdom, and yet with 
fear and anxiety they enter into the new year, and tremble at 
what is to come. Never as yet have they recognised the Lord. 
What miracles and signs are to happen, that ye believe, that ye 
leave in silent confidence to His guidance ? Why fear ye 
the future, since the Lord of the past yet lives and rules ? 

Be still and know that I am God ! God rules. Who 
alone has wisdom to rule. What has happened, was a benefit 
for future times and generations ; what will happen will bring 
blessings to us all. In His hand the moment in which a deed 
is done becomes a grain of seed, which for centuries germs and 
ripens, and for centuries after still bears fruit. What is to 
happen to thee in the present year. His wisdom has already sown 
from time immemorial; and thou shalt enjoy it now for the 
first, time. Weak-minded man, canst thou believe, that He, 
Who laid the foundation of thy fortunes, when thou didst 
not as yet exist, should forget thee in those days, when 

I 



114 BEOINNING OF 

thou art to receive these fortunes ? Recognise at last His 
wisdom; that will be the greatest wisdom of thy life ! — Murmur 
not, when losses meet thee ; accuse not Providence, when the 
destinies of the world and thy life are unintelligible to thee. 
Do thy duty as Christ taught it thee, and for the remainder 
let Him provide. Who alone has wisdom to rule. Murmur at 
the weakness of thy heart, accuse the faults which disturb thy 
peace of soul. Thou must blame thyself for whatever 
happens to thee through thy own injustice. What happens 
to thee without thy interference, what thou canst neither 
bring to pass nor alter; this is the work of the All- wise, 
this the fortune of thee and thine. Fear not, however 
terrible it may seem; for He, Who created night, created 
likewise the glittering stars! — The brute man, like the brute, 
looks only into the dust before him ; in the darkness of his 
Understanding, he thinks that all is but a chain of senseless 
circumstances, and builds much on the foundation of his 
own wisdom and power ; the remainder he calls the play of 
fortune. The godly man looks up ; his self-dominion, that is 
to say his virtue, is the spiritual band, which binds him to 
God ; and it is through this, that his prudence becomes more 
effective, clearer, and less seldom erring, because it is never 
without some degree of right; therefore his own power becomes 
stronger, because it relies on a higher confidence. Therefore, 
and with right, he only is called wise, who acts virtuously; and 
therefore, the most virtuous is likewise the most fearless. Who 
will stand against him, who stands with God ? 

Be still and know that I am God ! He rules, 
Whose tender parental love alone has a right to rule. 
Why art thou anxious about that which the hours of the new 
year may bring thee ? Hast thou never as yet, in days long since 
past, recognised the Eternal love ? How often hast not thou, 
like to-day, expected the most agreeable lot, or feared the 



THE NEW YEAR. 115 

most dreadful ? And what has happened to thee ? The most 
agreeable, when it was fulfilled, was not as agreeable, nor the 
most dreadful as dreadful, as thou didst represent it to thyself 
before it took place. Not one of the years of thy life was 
really thoroughly dreadful ; it ever brought thee also from time 
to time a handful of unexpected and small pleasures, which 
refreshed thee. Not one of the years of thy life was properly 
full of happiness ; a bitter drop was ever mixed with the sweet. 
Well then, recognise in the mirror of the past, the full portrait 
of the future ! The things around thee may take other forms 
and names ! In reality things remain the same. Some great 
pleasure will ever follow great pain, and with the shadow a 
stronger light will be combined. In this beneficent change 
recognise the eternally ruling love of thy Father up to the last 
of thy hours. 

And hast thou recognised in thy former years the love of 
God, then go and believe more firmly in it, with every year 
and every day, and thy faith will aid thee; when dangers 
threaten, thy courage will rise; for thou knowest Whose 
kindness is watching over thee. And with every believer 
thou wilt exclaim with David: "God is our refuge and 
strength, a very present help in trouble : therefore will not we 
fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains 
be carried into the midst of the sea ; though the waters thereof 
roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the 
swelling thereof. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of 
Jacob is our refuge. Selah ! 

Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he 
hath made in the earth. He maketh wars to cease unto the 
end of the earth ; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear 
in sunder : he burneth the chariot in the fire. Be still, and 
know that I am God." (Psalm xlvi. 11.) 

I 2 



116 BEGINNING OP 

Thou, my Lord, Who art the only powerful on earth as 
in heaven. Thou art God, my God ! I have recognised Thee 
in the events of my life up to now. I have recognised Thee 
in Thy infinite power, oft with delight, oft with fear. 
Therefore art Thou my confidtuice, my hope. My courage 
wavers not, for I keep firm to Thee, though the tempests of 
life blow fiercely around me. 

Undespairing I enter into the days of the new year. 
Perhaps one of its days may bring me misery, flight, and 
poverty. I will bear the most oppressing with equanimity, 
and will think that Thou, oh ! All-wise God, wouldst prove 
whether I, Thy child, am more attached to Thee, or to the 
comforts of sensual life. Perhaps one of these days may not 
only deprive me of property and fortune, but even of the life of 
the dearest of my beloved on earth. — I shudder at the thought — 
Father, oh ! Father of love, my heart will bleed — but I will 
say with Job: Thou hast given. Thou hast taken away! 
I will think that Thou only wishest through them to bind 
me the more strongly to Eternity. — Perhaps one of these 
days will lead my own angel of death to me. — Father ! Thy 
will be done. My breaking eye will longingly look up to 
Thee, and my soul will pray to Thee ; All-merciful, let me 
enter Thy kingdom. 

And if Thou hast destined it otherwise, if this year is to 
be a happy one, and a blessing to me and mine, with deep 
gratitude I will receive, oh ! my God, the gifts of Thy love, 
and apply them with prudence for the weal of myself and 
others ; no happiness shall make me overbearing. For I 
know the change of things. Nothing remaineth but for a 
short time. 

But that I may ever more clearly understand Thee, that 
my mind may be ever more joyous and courageous both for 



THE NEW YEAK. 117 

life and death — aid me with the power of Thy Holy Spirit, 
without which I can do nothing. That I may ever 
understand more accurately Thy will, manifested to me by 
Jesus Christ ; that I may ever exercise it more perseveringly ; 
that I may with right be called Thy child — be this my 
endeavour through the whole year, and may to-day be the 
commencement of my amendment in my largest, as well as 
in my smallest faults. Amen. Assist me with Thy mercy ! 
Amen. 



THE STRANGER 

LEVITICUS, xix. 33, 34. 



One only Father have we all — 

God is His only name- 
One primal origin have we— 

From which at first we came. 

And we are journeying to one home 

Of everlasting rest, 
A home above— where rich in joy — 

We shall be ever blest. 

Whoe'er with faith believe in God, 

And in Eternity ; 
Though language, space, and time divide, 

One brotherhood are we. 



One of tlie finest virtues of uncorrupted nations, is the 
virtue of hospitality. She was an ornament to ancient 
times, and can still be met vrith where simplicity of manners, 
probity of heart, and faithfulness in word and deed abide. 
The foreign traveller, far from those who once gave him life 
and home, far from those to whom he is dear, enters the 
towns and villages of virtuous nations, and hospitality replaces 
the joys of blood-relationship. He is not asked — of what 
belief art thou? — to what party belongest thou? No, the 
stranger has no parents, no brothers, no sisters, in this 
country, in this town ; therefore compassionately and lovingly 
is he received, and unofFendingly treated ; every one endeavours 
to be to the stranger in the place of parents, brother, and friend. 



THE STRANGER. 119 

Habitation, nourishment, friendly counsel and advice, are 
gladly tendered him, and he is guarded against danger. 

What touching examples of noble hospitality do we find 
amongst nations, whom we despise as wild, as so-called 
barbarians ! Even in the present day we find amongst them 
extreme love and kindness towards the stranger, who has found 
his way to them, just as we read of the same in the histories of 
the ancient covenant in the times of the patriarchs. "And if," 
says Moses, "a stranger sojourn with you in your land, ye shall 
not vex him. But the stranger that dwelleth with you, shall 
be unto you as one born among you, and ye shall love him as 
yourselves ; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt. I am 
the Lord your God. " 

Thus spake Moses, thus thought antiquity; thus still 
think uncorrupted nations, who live in far distant quarters of 
the world, in places where the name of Jesus has never yet 
been heard, and the venerable sign of our religion, the cross, 
never yet been planted. 

The Indian, by us despised, draws the wounded stranger, 
whom he finds at the road-side, compassionately under his 
palm roof; he sucks the poison from his wounds, and covers 
them with balsam herbs. He cures the unknown, dismissing 
him with his blessing, but neither hoping for, nor expecting 
thanks. The wild Arab summons with friendly invitation 
the tired traveller to his hut ; he, who can command a 
a hundred servants, himself washes his feet, refreshes him 
with meat and drink, and in the morning leads him on the 
right road, without expecting or accepting a reward. 

But different it is with those nations who have lost their 
pristine simplicity of manners. With never so many lovely 
virtues of antiquity, with fidelity and probity, with confidence 
and belief in the worth of the human heart, the virtue of 
hospitality is likewise every where fled from their towns and 



120 



THE STEANGEE. 



^es. The pious inhabitant of the desert puts them to 
shame ; yet they bhish not, but only mock him. 

In the place of friendly kindness towards the deserted 
stranger, heedless indifference obtains; instead of humane 
conduct, we perceive even amongst Christians and towards 
Christians — alas ! that I must say it amongst the followers 
of Jesus — but in too many places unfeeling hard-heartedness 
and all-despising selfishness. — The very men, who as 
long as they are themselves strangers in a place, gladly 
receive services of love; who gladly make use of the 
friendship of those whom they fall in with, who wish 
to be treated fairly and kindly; to be protected in their 
interests, aided in their necessities, and neither cheated nor 
deceived: they, who in foreign countries can behave so 
modestly, patiently, and obligingly towards foreigners — these 
are they, who in their own homes, and in their own habitations, 
show strangers the fewest services of love, who treat them 
in the coldest and most unfriendly manner, who help them 
least in difficulties, but overcharge them most, oppress them 
by injustice, and rob them of their property ! And every 
Sunday they enter the Temple of the Father of all men, and 
dare to pray to Him ! — And they call themselves Christians — 
followers of Jesus Christ ! 

Herein have we mostly degenerated from the manners 
and customs of our fathers, and herein consists the greatest 
corruption of the present age, that most men, without either a 
noble or disinterested mind, live but for their own interest ; 
that each quickly allows the other to be utterly ruined, if he 
but remain unobserved, and if he but derive advantage from it. 

They go about and do good to men, but they hope to 
receive a favor in return. They go about and take care that 
they injure not this or that person, because he knows them. 
They go about and diligently perform what the laws of 



THE STRANGER. 121 

the land command them to do, because they are afraid of civil 
punishment and degradation. Bat the stranger, from whom 
they have nothing to hope nor to fear, they desert. He is a 
subject of indifference to them. He may oft consider it good 
fortune if he leave the gates of their towns and villages 
without being injured, cheated, or overcharged. 

The sick wanderer, who, without power of aiding 
himself, implores the humanity of these so-styled Christians, 
is turned away from every door, and at the furthest is dragged, 
but not indeed from a motive of charity, from village to 
village, that he may become a burden to no one — dragged 
till completely enervated, he gives up the spirit. 

Ah ! this unfortunate, whom your hard-heartedness 
turned away from your doors, was perhaps the son of a good, 
loving mother, who watched in the distance with tears of 
anxiety for his return, or perhaps he was the father of 
uneducated children, for whom he went out to seek bread, and 
who now as orphans, in vain turn their eyes to the highway, 
by which he should come to gladden their hearts. 

And can Christians, recognising a rehgion founded on 
love and chai-ity, can they with cold hearts do that of which 
barbarous nations are ashamed? 

It is true indeed that there is a great difference between 
the densely inhabited countries in which we live, and the 
sparely populated tracts of distant quarters of the world. 
The circumstances in which we live make it to a great extent 
impossible for us to treat the stranger with the same degree of 
hospitality, as is requisite there, where no well-formed roads, 
no houses for the reception of travellers, and no asylums are 
to be met with. With us the number of travellers is much 
greater, their objects far more different, and their wants more 
numerous. Often there are many among them, who heedlessly 
make but a bad use of kind hospitality. But notwithstanding, 



122 



THE STHANGER. 



a thousand opportunities still present themselves, in which 
we could show a really Christian noble-mindedness to the 
stranger, and in which we could act the contrary of that 
which happens in so many cases. The whole of the 
arrangements made by magistrates for the proper lodging 
and protection, and the comfort of strangers, are not sufficient 
to render their stay among us pleasant and agreeable, but still 
leave to our holy duties a wide field of action. 

Yea, and thou must be mindful of these duties, oh ! 
Christian; for the stranger who comes from the 

DISTANCE, IS ALSO THY NEIGHBOUR. 

He is thy neighbour, and thy neighbour, the Lord says, 
THOU SHALT LOVE AS THYSELF. But wlio is thy neighbour ? 
Hast thou already taken this word into consideration, and 
inquired into its meaning ? Hast thou not up to now heedlessly 
comprehended under the name of neighbour, cYery person? 
No, not every person is thy neighbour, but from out millions 
of mortals who live on earth along with thee, it is but he, who 
in any manner is more nearly connected with thee, or with 
whom thou personally livest, or with whom thou hast 
acquaintance, friendship, or simply business at a distance. 
He stands thus in nearer connection to thee than millions of 
other persons do; he is the very nearest to thee, in every 
moment that thou art engaged with him. To him, our 
religion demands it, thou owest love, friendship, and assistance. 

In this manner the stranger, in as much as thou and he 
need it, becomes thy neighbour. He ceases to be a stranger 
to thee. His Father in heaven, is likewise thy Father. His 
destiny is likewise thy destiny. His hopes are likewise thy hopes. 

The stranger, when far away from those who love and 
perhaps mourn for him, comes to us as a lonely person, 
without friends, without relations, without counsellors; he 
comes, with silent confidence in our honesty, in our hearts. — 



THE STRANGER. 123 

Shall this confidence be misplaced ? — No, be thou, to whom he 
applies, his protector ; for like an orphan, he comes to thee — 
be his guardian, for there is no one who will interest himself 
for him — be his counsellor, for he has no friend but those who 
are far away — do thou endeavour that he may enjoy himself, 
for those who would gladly find out means for his doing so, 
his parents, his wife, his children, all live at a distance. 

Who knows but that hereafter, driven by our destiny 
we likewise may take up our abode in foreign countries? 
Boast not of thy present prosperity, of the pleasantness of thy 
habitation, and the peace of thy country. What security do 
we enjoy in the days of unexampled want, what prosperity in 
the days of general disturbance ? 

Perhaps, if it happen not to ourselves, yet our children, 
or some of our relations, our dearest friends, may, as strangers, 
be compelled to traverse foreign countries. And when those 
whom we love, wander there amongst unknown men, how 
agreeable will it be to them, if some unlooked for kind and 
friendly hand lead them, and introduce them to a new home. 
How dear is the friendly smile of an unknown face to a lonely 
stranger ! How sweet is the nursing of a friendly hand, and 
the care of a friendly heart, to which he as yet never showed 
any act of kindness ! 

Canst thou imagine how happy thou wouldst feel, were 
some noble-minded person to interest himself for thee when 
thou wert absent. Canst thou imagine how thy heart would 
quickly beat, if thou learnt that one of thy sons, one of thy 
blood-relations, had, in distant countries, received from the 
hand of some religious man, assistance, friendship, and 
consolation ? — ^Why dost thou delay to prepare the same joy 
for others ? Father, Mother, if thy beloved son were at any 
time to be received, and, without asking it be treated with 
kind attention by unknown, but kind men, in distant 



124 



THE STKANGEE. 



countries — wouldst thou not with tears in thy eyes implore 
blessings from above, on the unknown protecting angel of thy 
beloved ! Well then, why wilt thou not make use of the 
occasion when it presents itself? Why wilt thou not produce, 
through thy good deeds to strangers, those tears of joy in the 
eyes of other persons ? Why wilt thou not know that thyself 
and thy name are blessed at a distance by a stranger's heart. 

Let us be obliging and serviceable to strangers 
OF every rank. The poor man has claims on our kindness, 
and attention, — yea, and more so than the rich man. ^^And 
what thou hast done to the lowest," thy Jesus says to thee, 
"that thou hast done to me." 

In the same manner as it is accounted a shameful act in 
the strong to be unmannerly and rude to the weak, to an 
unprotected woman, or to a child ^ so it is disgraceful to act 
disobligingly and indifferently to a stranger, who is without 
protection, instructions, and counsel. If thou canst not aid 
every stranger as much as thou wouldst wish, or he desire, 
still it is in thy power to reward him with a friendly look, to 
give him advice to the best of thy powers, to warn him of 
what may be injurious to him, and of which he is not aware, 
and to treat him with kindness. — Not every stranger demands 
money, or lodging from thee; but every one requires thy 
friendly look and counsel. He has a right to it, because men 
among men are no strangers, but only members of one large 
family scattered over the face of the earth, who call the world 
their home, heaven their hope, and the Eternal God above 
the stars their Father. — And as thou treatest him, thus will 
he judge thy Country. Thy humanity or thy imprudence 
will stamp with glory or shame thy whole place ! 

Let us assist the stranger, without regard to 

COUNTRY, descent, OR RELIGION, IN WORD AND DEED, 
WHEN HE STANDS IN NEED. 



THE STRANGER. 125 

Who then is my neighbour, one learned in the law, once 
demanded of Jesus. And Jesus answered, by relating the 
story of the good Samaritan. — The priest passed by the 
unfortunate, who lay wounded and despoiled by the hand of 
an assassin ; coldly the Levite went past — but the Samaritan 
interested himself for the stranger, without inquiring after his 
country, his descent, or his religion. (Luke, x. 30.) To the 

UNFORTUNATE ALL MEN ARE RELATED. 

Painful and oppressing is sickness, even in our home; 
but still a loving hand reaches us the medicine, and faithful 
friends console us. But the stranger is solitary on the bed of 
sickness; only a hired hand reaches him the goblet of 
restoration — ah ! to him the sick-bed is more painful and 
oppressing. 

If in our place of abode we are persecuted and oppressed, 
we at least find one soul which compassionately shares our 
sorrow, at least one breast on which we can freely indulge in 
tears. But the stranger, how unhappy ! Who shares his 
fate, who pities, who consoles him ? Ah, those who could, 
those who would do it, are far away from him, divided by 
land and sea ! So let us now take the place of his friends, his 
sisters, his brothers, his grey-haired parents. He is so much 
the more unhappy, as he is strange and solitary ; so much the 
nearer is eYery tender heart to him related. 

Let us prepare through our love a new and a 

BETTER COUNTRY FOR THE GOOD AND USEFUL STRANGER, 
WHO HAS BECOME OUR FELLOW-CITIZEN, WHO HAS MADE OUR 
HOME HIS. 

There is no pride more foolish than that which rules in 
weak minds, and rests on the hollow boast of having lived 
with one's family longer in a town and a village, and having 
enjoyed a longer time than another the rights of citizenship. 
For not in that what others were and enjoyed before us, should 



126 THE STRANGEK. 

we pride ourselves ; but it is on the good and useful results 
that we have brought about, that we should set a high value, 
if we wish to be esteemed as useful members of society. 

The stranger, as soon as he has fulfilled the conditions 
which the law prescribes concerning his settlement in our 
country, is one of, and like us. He ceases to be a stranger. 
He no longer has any home but ours. He shares and 
bears with us the same public burdens; he approaches 
God at one and the same altar with us, his dust will hereafter 
slumber by the side of ours, waiting the great day of 
resurrection. 

And the more that prejudice strives against the peace 
and contentment of the stranger, so much the more sacred to 
every righteous man, and true Christian, is the duty of 
protecting him, of solacing him in the sorrow which the 
rudeness, the envy, and the foolish pride of bad or misguided 
men have caused him. — Be thou his friend when others coldly 
shun him ; give him friends, give him thy family, that deserted 
and deceived he may not mourn in his new country. — Thou 
hast fulfilled thy duty, when thou seest him and his family 
well settled. 

But notwithstanding all obligations under which a 
stranger is to us even more than a friend, we should not be 
the less cai-eful in our behaviour towards persons with whom 
we are not acquainted. We should assist them, but yet 
we must not blindly give them our whole confidence. We 
should impart counsel to them, but not on that account 
immediately lay open to them our whole heart ; we should not 
sacrifice and neglect our older friends on account of them, nor 
give ourselves up to a desire for novelty. The old tried friend 
thou knowest, but the new one must first stand the test in the 
hour of trial. — We should honour the stranger, but should not 
become the echo of his opinions, the imitator of his manners, 



THE STRANGER. 127 

habits, and customs. He chooses our country, then let our 
country's manners be alike venerated by him. 

This is the worthy behaviour of the Christian towards 
strangers in his country. No one is a stranger to him, if he 
be pious, good, and useful. He is the friend of all noble, all 
good persons. He is the brother of every child of God. 
— And the virtuous are God's children, on whatever part of 
the earth they may live. 

All extend to thee, oh ! Eternal Father in heaven, their 
hands in filial love. Thou lovest them all, in whatever land 
they live, and by whatever religion they be led to Thy altar. 
Hence shall nobody be strange to me, except he, who is a 
stranger to Thee ; no one shall be strange to me, but he, who 
shuns Thee and avoids the paths of virtue. — And whoever does 
Thy holy will, whoever doeth good, he is my brother j him I 
meet in this short journey on earth, as a beloved travelling 
companion to Eternity ; to him thou wilt again reunite me in 
better worlds, where we shall lisp the sweet name of brother 
at Thy throne. 

Father, Father, All-merciful, Eternal, Kind Father ! Are 
we not altogether strangers in this world? Is not the true 
home of us all with Thee ? Why should a mere name, an 
empty pride separate us here? Before Thee no one is a 
stranger who loves Thee : why then should he be so to me? 
No, my God ! all men are my brethren, and I owe the most 
to those, who stand most in need of me. Thus I live in the 
spirit of the religion of my Jesus. Amen. 



THE OATH, 

EXODUS, XX. 7, 16. 



Thy Holy Name, oh! Lord of Hosts, 

I ne'er will use in vain — 
But always— as though bound by oath— 

The way of truth maintain. 

Truth is eternal, and will crown 

With confidence and joy; 
"Whilst false oaths lead to darksome fears, 

And will the soul destroy. 



There is only one condition, under which men can live 
together in peace ; only one condition, under which mutual 
confidence is possible, and this condition is called 
TRUTHFULNESS. Men must be, what they appear; without it 
there is no confidence and peace; malice, misunderstanding, 
and violence alone reign. 

Whoever at any time has been guilty of an untruth, or 
deceit towards any of his friends or relations, has from that 
moment repelled all unsuspected confidence in his probity, has 
condemned himself to be constantly disbelieved, and must 
at every word that he speaks, at every promise that he makes, 
at every assurance that he gives, justly fear: who knows 
whether thou art believed ? 

Whoever undertakes to guarantee a matter as true, be the 
occasion small or great, calls into witness the innocence of his 
own heart, his honesty, and the convictions in his own mind 
concerning the matter. Bad enough for him, if he then 
utter lies instead of truth. He has publicly stained the 



THE OATH. 129 

innocence of his heart, he has denied his own honesty, he has 
disgracefully contradicted his convictions, and become an object 
of in\Yard detestation to himself. Nor is this all. He has for a 
long time, perhaps for ever, forfeited the confidence of those he 
has deceived ; he has forfeited it with all men, for either he 
considers them as bad as himself, or he fears that no one will 
believe his words. He is therefore accustomed, in order to 
make himself really believed, to afiirm matters the most 
insignificant, eitlier by his honor, or faith, or the heavens, or 
even by some yet more stringent oath. 

But he who has once made himself so despicable, that he 
is not believed on his mere word, no one will so easily give 
credence to him because of his heedless, perhaps customary, 
asseverations. Yea, we are accustomed, least of all to trust 
those persons who assert even the most trivial matters in words 
high and mighty, and who attempt to strengthen them by an 
oath. For such persons have foi'feited all confidence in their 
words by more than one untruth, by more than one act of 
deceit. 

He, who in an assurance that he gives, calls witnesses and 
testimony to the truth of his statements, by this calls in question 
the importance of his words. He no longer stands alone; he 
has bound others and their honesty to his probity. If he have 
called on them wrongly, he runs the danger of being quickly 
disgraced before the whole world by their refutation. Has 
he bribed the witnesses ? his danger is not the less. He is 
no longer master of his own secrets; others know them, bribed 
witnesses, false witnesses, men whose honesty he himself 
dares not trust, without committing the greatest folly. But 
the human mind is changeable ; one or other of his false 
witnesses may sooner or later betray him, whether it be from 
motives of anger, or because he repents him of the false 
testimony he has given. 

K 



130 THE OATH. 

But the OATH is the highest and most holy manner of 
assurance, which one mortal can give another. It is the most 
solemn promise, in which he invokes the All-just, the All-wise, 
to be witness to his righteousness, and in which he calls on the 
fearful and eternal Judge of all breach of faith. It is a dreadfully- 
important action, in which he not only gives as security and 
pledge his honor, his good name, his property and wealth, but 
likewise, the destiny of his soul ordained to immortality. And 
hence it is that perjury becomes the heaviest crime, because he, 
who commits it, Satan-like, loses the confidence of God and 
the world, and fearlessly at one and the same time tears himself 
loose from the power of Divine creation and Divine property, 
and stands alone and despised, still indeed in human form, 
but more miserable than the brute animal, than a plant and a 
stone ; miserable and despicable ! it would have been better for 
him that his mother had never borne him ! The perjured like 
a maniac, plays with God and Eternity, with Providence and 
Destiny. He pays more than the value of a ton of gold, for 
the acquisition of a barren grain of sand ; he gives a whole 
life, in return for a single breath ! 

Fathers and mothers, and educators, all of ye, to whom 
the formation of young souls is confided, guard early the 
tender minds from levity of words, from the misapplication 
of asseverations, and the vain use of holy names ! 

And as it is in itself very improper, to asseverate 
all, even the most insignificant matters, by an oath, (which 
arises either from the worst of educations, or from the 
corruption of the mind); so is it in like measure dangerous. 
We must not desecrate, nor change into the disgraceful play 
of the tongue, the name of the Highest Being, of the Infinite 
the name of Jesus, the Holy Saviour of the world. How 
can we, with deep veneration, worship God in spirit and in 
truth, when abusing His holy name, we laughingly and 



THE OATH. 131 

pertly use it on low matters? (Exod. xx. 7.) Whither is 
veneration for Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, fled, 
when His dear name, to which all should bend their knees, 
is heard in the midst of rude laughter. 

Here is the danger of irreligion, here the danger of 
perjury. For will he, who long ago through practice has lost 
all veneration and esteem for holy names, regard them as 
of so great importance, when in his oath he calls them as 
witnesses to his faith ? 

The oath should never be sworn except in important 
CASES AND UNDER SOLEMN SUMMONS. Jesus forbids the 
heedless use of oaths. " But let your communication be. 
Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these, 
cometh of evil." (Matt. v. 37.) Only then, when no other 
means of proving the truth exists; only when a man can 
give no other surety for his probity; only when inevitable 
necessity herself commands — only then let the oath be taken. 

He, who can assist himself by a small trifle, shall he 
immediately give his whole property as pledge ? He, who 
can save himself through the vexation of a few days or years, 
shall he throw his eternal destiny into the scale ? Never ! 
Only when no other means, no other security exists in 
important cases, then let the oath be demanded. Only when 
he can give no firmer pledge of his faith, only when he is 
perfectly convinced of the truth of what is desired to be 
known, may the Christian take an oath. 

The oath may be demanded in confirmation of testimony 
given concerning what has already occurred. In this 
case the conscientious Christian will take good heed that he 
asserts not any thing with the circumstances of which he is 
not thoroughly acquainted. He will leave behind him every 
vice, and will be cautious not to state as true what is merely 
probable. He will remember how easily our eyes and ears are 

K 2 



132 THE OATH. 

deceived in many cases, how our memory may often lead us 
into error. What he is to affirm as true, he will previously 
enquire into well and correctly, and will consider what and 
how much he may with certainty state and swear to. Rightly 
his soul will tremble to give false evidence, to bring his 
guiltless fellow-men to harm, and to lead the judge into error. 
His soul will rightly be frightened, as in the moment of 
taking the oath he stands with reverence, not only before the 
magistracy on earth, but also in the presence of God. 

And as it is very difficult to take an oath about that 
which we have seen with our eyes and heard with our 
ears, and have even done ourselves; so is it still more 
difficult to confirm with an oath, what is yet to happen, 
or what we promise to perform. — Let no one swear this oath, 
who has not first proved and enquired whether he can and 
will execute such promise in all its details. Let no one take 
it, who comprehends not the whole intent and extent of the 
duty which he has undertaken to perform. 

It is in vain, Antichrist, that thou walkest with bold 
front before God and man, walkest about, to mock laws human 
and divine, walkest about, to uplift thy accursed hand with 
false oath to heaven, and to allow thy criminal tongue to 
stammer the oath's mighty words; it is in vain that thou 
attachest a hidden meaning to the wording of thy oath ; that in 
thy soul thou thinkest quite other words, perhaps the very 
opposite of those, which, swearing, thou utterest ! — Thou 
art not clear of perjury !— Thou hast not cheated God, for He, 
Who knows the hearts, saw thy deceit ; thou hast not cheated 
MEN, for thou gavest them the Divine knowledge, and the 
salvation of thy soul as pledge. — Only thyself hast tliou 
cheated.— Thou hast dared — oh ! monster, unworthy of the 
name of man, to make the Most Holy Deity accomplice of 
thy deed, Thou hast dared to make the All-just the concealer 



I 



THE OATH. 133 

of thy shame, that He should lend His holy name to ennoble 
thee, and deceive the earthly magistracy, which is on earth 
in place of God, and ordained by God Himself. 

Miscreant! wouldst thou have dared to appear before the 
throne of an earthly prince, to give a false oath to the judges, 
to appeal to the monarch to be a witness of thy probity, to 
stake thy property, goods, chattels, and personal freedom, as 
pledges of the truth of thy assertion; and then, in the same 
moment that thou sworest before the judge, and the officers 
of the prince, to whisper to him himself, the very contrary, the 
denial of thy oath ? Wouldst thou have dared to humble the 
monarch into an abettor of thy wickedness, and wish him to 
aid thee in deceiving those whom he himself has appointed 
for the preservation of right, truth, and innocence ? 

" Be not deceived ! God is not mocked ! " — is the 
langua^^e of Holy Writ. 

Let none then attempt to take an oath, without being 
fully convinced of, and instructed in, the importance of this 
action j instructed in what an oath is, and instructed in the 
unavoidable consequences of perjury. 

Thou swearest — thou givest the most solemn promise 
a mortal can give. Thou swearest — thou callest the All- 
searching God to be the witness of thy honesty and 
conscientiousness. Thou swearest, and liftest up thy hand to 
the Eternal and Immortal, to the Judge of the dead. Thou 
swearest, and the three raised fingers, are to thee and to those 
who are present, and are witnesses of thy oath, as a mark 
of remembrance, as an image of the Trinity of God, the 
All-present. Thou swearest, and in the presence of God 
waivest all claims to His mercy and love, if thou swear 
falsely. Thou renouncest, in case of perjury, the mercy of 
God, thy Father and thy Creator, Who ordained thee to 
happiness in this world. Thou separatest thyself from the 
communion of Jesus Christ, from all participation in His 



134 THE OATH. 

justice, and in the merit of His bloody death on the cross. 
Thou swearest thyself free from the blessing of the Holy 
Ghost, and dedicatest thyself to sin and damnation in the 
sight of God and His creatures. 

He, who knows the power and extent of an oath, must 
tremble even at the possibility of breaking it. 

Imagine not, light-minded man, thou who seest in every 
thing mere dust and earthly matter, and nowhere the Divine — 
imagine not: that the oath is but a formula, an invention made 
by man, an instrument in the hands of earthly judges — a mere 
jumble of words. If thou know not the sanctity of the oath, 
or if thou despise it, thou must still honour and fear the 
inevitable consequences, which, like a black shadow, attend 
perjury. Thou wilt have to acknowledge, that verily 
there is a Judge above the stars, a fixed arrangement in 
the world of spirits, eternal and unchanging, which no man can 
disturb, and which invariably sends punishment in the wake 
of every sinner, and of every crime. 

The perjured, whilst he abjures God and happiness, 
invokes, as it were, a whole hell into his life. — And the first 
devil who torments him is called, Consciousness of the crime 
—the second. Fear of the detection of the perjury. 

He has, indeed, by means of the false oath, justified 
himself before man — but not before the righteous God, nor 
before himself. Whatever he may do, the sense of his 
inward shame remains, and though men may esteem him, he 
cannot but despise himself, and his wickedness makes him 
continually disgusted with himself Abominable state ! in 
which man ceases to honour himself, and in which he can no 
longer even enjoy the marks of esteem shewn him by others, 
but in which he must say: ''Ye deceived ! if ye did but know 
me." This state is the Hell of conscience. 

And if the heedless evil-doer can at last, through art and 
practice, succeed so far as to quiet his conscience, still the fear 



THE OATH. 136 

of publicity being given to his practised perjury, cannot be 
suppressed. His life is one of continual anxiety. From his 
own experience he adduces a thousand examples, proving that 
nothing remains concealed. 

Unfortunate man ! how canst thou hope with any 
probability, that thy shame will remain an eternal secret? 
Hast not thou thyself called the Omniscient to be witness and 
judge of thy deed? — Hast not thou thyself invoked His 
justice, to avenge thy perjury? Hast not thou thyself 
solemnly prayed Him not to aid thee ? 

Every one has laid stress upon the solemn action of thy 
oath, and therefore every one observes thee more narrowly and 
carefully. The smallest and least inconsistency, will be sufficient 
to raise suspicions concerning thee. Thou ai't not master of all 
circumstances, and thy perjury is betrayed, before thou 
thinkest it. For this is the eternally-wise arrangement of 
God in the world, that injustice must at last come to light, 
even though mountains had been rolled over it. (Zech. v. 4.— 
Mai. iii. 5.) 

In olden times, the dreadful, and often speedy, 
consequences of perjury were known, and the examples of the 
means by which perjuries w^ere brought to light, are in many 
cases as wonderful as they are horrible. And the divine word 
has been verified : " Be not deceived ! God is not mocked ! " 

Thou hast sworn falsely ; by thine oath thou hast perhaps 
done injury to thy neighbour, and plunged some unfortunate 
into deep misfortune. The curse of misfortune falls upon thee. 
— Through thy perjury thou hast cheated and deceived the 
magistracy. — Complain not, if the sw^ord of justice strike thee. 

Hope not, that, if thy fault has remained concealed 
several years, it will remain so for ever. The transgression 
of youth has often been avenged on the aged man j and the 
curse on the perjured is often heard over his grave to the 
prejudice and injury of his descendants. Hope not to 



136 THE OATK. 

conciliate the All-merciful to thy crime by penitence and 
repentance; first conciliate those to whom thy perjury has 
caused misery in this world. — This is the first step to 
amendment; every other is but hypocrisy. Thou wouldst 
wish to enjoy at the same time the benefit of thy transgression 
and the mercy of God. The Almighty favors no injustice ! 
God does not allow Himself to be mocked ! 

By thy perjury thou didst abnegate the assistance of 
God — who will aid thee when thy eyes break in death, when 
thy heart grows cold, and thou must leave all thou hast 
behind thee? — With thy false oath thou hast given up all 
right to the merits of Jesus — adorned with what merit 
wilt thou enter into the night of eternity? Whilst thy tongue 
sware the false words, the Holy Ghost departed from thee — 
who is to interest himself for thee, in the grave judgment 
which thou thyself hast provoked ? 

Holy, Holy God ! I dare not think upon all the dreadful 
consequences of self-damnation ; for such, and nothing else, is 
perjury ! God of truth, truthful I will be and will remain 
in the eyes of Thee and men, such that I shall not have to 
avoid the face of man, nor Thy all-searching look, Thy 
immutable justice ! — Be Thy name ever sanctified by me in 
word and deed, and far be it from me to take it in vain. 
Trutliful, faithful, and pure, like Jesus' word be mine, that 
Thy Holy Spirit may ever abide in me. Amen. 



BROKEN FRIENDSHIP, 

PROVERBS, xviii. 19. 



No sight is more mournful than that of a family distracted 
by quarrels and dissensions! — Alas! it is not a rare case. We see 
at times brothers as indifferent, as unloving, and hostile to 
each other, as if they had only lain on one mother's heart, and 
been nurtured at one mother's breast, in order to be eternally 
divided in their wishes and habits of thought. We at times 
see sisters living with sisters in a manner so unfriendly and 
unconciliatory, in an enmity so lasting and secret, that the most 
disinterested spectator shudders. Yea, it is but too frequently, 
that blood-relations live with each other on far less cordial 
terms than they do with strangers; and that they show each 
other, amongst themselves, far fewer kindnesses than they 
would show strangers, if an opportunity were offered them. 

If we reflect on the cause of this indifference or hatred, 
we can scarcely solve it. Matters of mere trifling import 
alone can be mutually blamed, and these it is often 
not worth while to mention; they are even ashamed of 
mentioning them, because it is foreseen that no one will find 
them important enough to be the cause of such deep-seated 
hatred. They are therefore generally satisfied with only 
accusing the unsocial character of each other, their hypocrisy, 
ingratitude, or corrupt hearts. 

Very often this deep and mutual hatred, is likewise 
observed in such persons, as were formerly the most intimate 
friends. They, who formerly were constantly with each other, 
who reciprocally confided to each other their great and small 
affairs, their plans, views and wishes ; who seemed as if they 



138 BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 

could not be happy without each other ; these persons, when 
through an unhappy occasion their friendship has been broken, 
become towards each other, in the most unfair manner, severe 
in judgment, harsh, cold, malicious, and full of cutting contempt. 
It is in vain to bring them together, and to try the arts of 
reconciliation. They will no more hear any thing of each 
other ; it is now of as great importance for them to avoid each 
other, never to meet, never to be acquainted, as it was formerly 
their joy to seek and find each other, mutually to unburden 
their hearts, or at least to speak of each other in absence, 
could they not speak together. The closer the former 
friendship was, the more violent is the subsequent enmity. 
And with right, Solomon, experienced in life, and full of 
knowledge of the human heart says: " A brother offended 

IS HARDER TO BE WON THAN A STRONG CITY." (PrOV. 

xviii. 19.) 

How shall I explain this grievous matter? Ah, truly 
there are many deep-rooted causes for it. 

To the want of love and dissensions between brothers and 
sisters, the false mode of education on the part of imprudent 
parents may often contribute much; when, for instance, the 
father gives a preference to one child, the mother to another, 
and thereby arouse mutual hatred and bickerings. But 
the too great disparagement of age between brothers and 
sisters may cause much greater evil, when the grown-up assume 
a certain degree of pride towards the younger ones, and make 
them feel their superiority in years, knowledge, and outward 
circumstances, in an imprudent, supercilious, or overbearing 
manner. The younger do not like to bear with this; they 
see in the grown-up, no superiors, no parents to whom 
veneration is due, but they see persons with whom they have 
equal rights. Thus, for the most part, the imprudence of the 
grown-up is the first cause that leads to the rupture of peace 
in a family ; but the younger ones generally are the first to 



BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 139 

destroy peace, through their irritated passion, because they 
have neither received, nor learnt how to return, love. With 
this all those causes of enmity may likewise be ranked, which 
take place amongst other persons, who for a long time have 
li^ed together in close relationship, or from their inclination 
have chosen so close an intimacy. 

For every intimacy, or even intercourse for some time, 
during which friendship may not be even sought after, will 
lead to an approximation of ideas. We see each other daily, 
and we cannot so easily screen from each other our different 
views of matters or peculiarities of mind, as we can from 
strangers. We cannot but impart matters from time to time 
to each other. Custom makes us more or less necessary the 
one to the other. Hence nevr points of agreement daily arise, 
and the number of them ties the bands of confidence more 
closely. Yet these very points of agreement are but so many 
places of the heart which are liable to be easily Avounded, 
and which we do not like to expose to strangers. Offences, 
which we receive there, pain us more strongly and acutely. 
Hence no stranger can offend us so much as a friend; 
nor so easily, for the multiplicity of matter is wanting. 
But the offence once given, mutual hatred is then so much 
the greater, as the former points of agreement were the 
more numerous. The more openly, the more freely, the 
more lovingly, we show ourselves to others, the more 
unpardonable the smallest betrayal of our heart seems to be. 
We deem ourselves completely and wholly deceived; 
we think every thing hypocrisy that the other has done, find 
his behaviour incomprehensible, his power of deceit diabolical, 
and almost mistrust human nature collectively and altogether. 

But seldom is it that we possess a memory as 
tenacious in remembering kindnesses and acts of 
friendship which we have received from others, 
as in recording those that we have shewn them. 



140 BUOKE:^ T'RIENDSHlPi 

The lovQ which others shew us, appears but trifling in 
comparison with that which we show, or would gladly show 
ihdm. For we know not the feelings which moved them, 
but only those which we experienced, and which we could 
scarcely express, so heartily to them as we gladly would -have 
done. When therefore friendship has been broken, the 
complaint of the severed is always loudest about ingratitude 
or shameful abuse of love. But the wounds which real or 
presumed ingratitude inflicts, are always the most poignantly 
felt. 

Even the constant recollection of happiness enjoyed 
during former amicable intercourse, serves but to embitter the 
memory of the fi-iendship of former times. All appears but 
one immense deceit, and a noble dream of our life seems to 
have been dispelled by it. These remembrances are as 
loathsome to us as the corpses of false friends. We are 
anxious to eradicate from our minds, if we could,' the whole 
memory of the past, for all of it reminds us of the blackest 
of human vices., of treachery, hypocrisy, infidelity, and 
ingratitude.' 

If all this be already sufficient to stir up their minds 
after severed friendship, to irreconcilable enmity, still mutual 
hatred is not less seldom increased by mutual fear. We repent 
of having been too confiding and open-hearted, of having 
given ourselves too much into the other's power, of having 
too plainly unfolded our inward feelings. We see our most 
secret affairs, judgments, views, and perliaps our honor and 
happiness confided to the trust of him, who, of all mortals 
under the sun, seems to be the most unworthy and dangerous. 
How can reconciliation so easily take place ? How can lost 
confidence be so easily regainedJ? Truly, a lost bbother 
IS more difficult to be gained than a walled town. 
The more sincerely and tenderly we loved, the deeper is 
the pain of the heart that thinks itself betrayed or deceived. 



BHOKEN FRIENDSHIP. 141 

To good and feeling persons, to real Christian minds, it 
must in fact be nearly as important to atoid a rupture of 
FRIENDSHIP, as it is to seek means for improving it. It must 
be of the greatest concern to him, who yet enjoys the happiness 
of a confidential intercourse with one who is dear to him, and 
would therefore have to sacrifice the most pleasant enjoyment 
of his life, how he may effectually guard against the destruction 
of his present happiness. 

Every one indeed thinks that this is not difficult — but love 
is credulous and confiding, or else it would not be love. Persons 
innumerable have experienced this evil, because they did not 
believe this, but deemed themselves wiser and firmer than 
they were, because they thought that they were best acquainted 
with themselves and their friends ; because they imagined 
themselves loved too much, and believed that a separation of 
such hearts, a coldness, or implacable hatred as impossible. 

Prudence is necessary in all things. Here also. — Time, 
opportunities, experience, and many unforeseen events, have 
already changed many a mind ; and of two severed friends, 
the one has generally contributed as much to the dissolution 
of these fine bands, as the other. 

Prudence is necessary in all things ! Thou requirest 
prudence much less on account of thy friend's disposition, 
than on account of thine own. Be on thy guard against 
thyself 5 not so against him whom thou knowest, whom thou 
hast perhaps often tried and always found constant. Many 
hours are there in which we much sooner learn the characters 
of others, than we do our own. 

If thou wish to maintain thy friendship unseared and 
unshaken, thou wilt not do this so much by the sincerity or 
earnestness of thy affection, as by imbuing him with increasing 
veneration and love by thy behaviour towards him and 
others, by thy virtue, and advancing ennoblement. Passionate 
tenderness may at times become troublesome and intrusive ; 



142 BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 

but a virtuous mind, and virtuous actions, produce increasing 
approbation. 

The greater the esteem that thy conduct obtains thee from 
other persons, the prouder thy friend will be of thy friendship, 
and the less liable to rupture will it be. Exterminate then 
every fault to which thou art attached; show no weaknesses; 
appear more amiable through thy virtues of every sort, whether 
alone or in company, whether by word or deed, and thou wilt 
ever be more faithfully loved. But this appearance must be 
truth, not deceit. The eye of thy friend discovers tliee sooner 
than thou deemcst. Hypocrisy is a suicide of friendship. Even 
out of love for thy friend, and when encouraged by him, 
allow thyself no weakness, no error, though thou thyself were 
tempted to do so. For thou hast forfeited his true esteem, in 
as much as thou hast appeared in his eyes unworthy of thyself, 
although this unworthiness might be only the fulfilment of his 
own wishes. He will soon have to love thee less than before, 
because he cannot honour thee as before, and because thou 
hast now lost that through which alone thou couldst have 
become dear to him. 

Forgive thyself no error, but be the more willing 

TO PARDON the TRANSGRESSIONS AND FAILINGS OF THY 

FRIEND. The example of thy virtue will cure him of them. 
Admiring and esteeming thee, he will not be able to brook the 
feeling that he is unworthy of thee. Pardon him his faults and 
failings, but without smilingly giving them approbation. Thy 
smile will confirm him in his ignoble acts, and degrade thee in 
his eyes, as if thy heart were corrupted by the same faults. He 
will soon view thee in a more worthless light. Pardon him 
his faults and failings, but not with the intention of exercising 
thine own with impunity, and of therefore demanding from him 
greater licence for thy errors. For every one likes full licence 
for his imperfections; but those of others are nevertheless 
repugnant to him, and what we often do ourselves, (for self-love 



BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 143 

always justifies oneself,) we do not like to forgive others 
when they do it. 

It is not sufficient that we avoid irritating faults or open 
transgressions, through which we weaken the esteem felt for us, 
but we must know how to seek in trivial matters the esteem 
and friendship of him who is dear to us. A slight rudeness, 
a want of attention, matters in themselves, but caused by 
slight negligence, and unseemly liberties, which we have 
taken, have more frequently caused the rupture of friendship, 
than a really grievous fault. For against the latter we generally 
guard with greater diligence, whilst on the other hand we 
believe that we need not observe so much ceremony in our 
intercourse with persons with whom we are intimate, as we 
must with others. But then we do not remember that 
a thousand little favors, an obliging demeanour, an attentive 
behaviour, are no less acceptable to the friend than to the 
stranger; that we perhaps first made him our friend by 
these; that a neglect of them, is a neglect of friendship. 
No ! treat thy confidant in heart and thought like thy other 
SELF ; but in thy outward behaviour, as an amiable stranger, 
whose favor thou strivest to obtain. For this is the reason 
why there are so many unhappy marriages and severed 
friendships, because men forget, their aim once obtained, that 
the same means must be used to maintain their happiness, as 
were used to acquire it. Hence the numerous complaints we 
hear from the one and the other. — I have been deceived in 
him; his amiability was but a pretence; he is quite another man, 
when thou knowest him better. These accusations are partly 
well founded, if he who long strove to please will cease 
to please in that in which he had been accustomed to do so. 

But it is often only unhappy misitndeestandings, 
WHICH CAUSE THE RUPTURE OF FRIENDSHIP. Two men may 
be equally good, equally amiable, and in their peculiarities 
quite fitted for one another ; hut from a want of an open- 



144 BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 

hearted explanation concerning that which perhaps gave 
offence, from untimely pride, or trifling obstinacy, the happiness 
of a whole life has oftentimes been blasted. We must neither 
require our frienfl to be omniscient, nor must we cherish the 
opinion, that we always see matters in their true light, and 
rightly determine the words and actions of the other. 
Circumstances may sometimes be so arranged that all 
appearances may be now against our friend — now against us. 
Our happiness is irrecoverably lost if we but for a moment 
cherish suspicion. We must more closely examine that which 
grieves us ; we must not trust other's eyes, nor other's reports, 
nor even that which we oui'selves have seen and heard; bui /e 
must freely confide to our friend the cause of our discontent, 
and must expect of him an explanation of his conduct. If we 
delay to do this, then our love will no longer continue as strong 
and pure as it ought to be. Suspicion once having taken 
root, will not be so soon exterminated; it shows us every thing 
in a treacherous light; makes the simplest words and actions 
of others doubtful, and produces coldness and anger, to the 
prejudice of perhaps the most faithful heart. 

Torn friendship is torn life. Whoever has gained a friend, 
must keep him with tender care ; for he will not very easily 
find a second who will be to him, what he is. And thou, who 
hast lost what thou lovest, and who strivest to recover the 
estranged heart, follow thy inclination. Yv^hoever has really 
and truly loved, does not easily forget. And thy former friend 
perhaps feels and conceals the same pain for thee, that thou 
feelest for him . B ut the pride that prevents thy acknowledging 
it, forces him to the like pride. No one will humble himself 
when he strives to gain esteem ; no one will make his cause 
suspicious through too easy compliance, nor sacrifice his pride 
to his innocence. Thus ye remain parted, M'ho yearningly 
live for one another in your thoughts and dreams. Accident 
may perhaps first solve the riddle which caused suspicion, 



BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. 145 

and clear up the misunderstanding which tore asunder two 
good hearts. 

Cease not, though parted, to love a friend once 
DEAR to thee. Though absent, care for him, speak of 
him with the same warmth with which thou wert formerly- 
inspired through his virtues and amiable qualities ; defend him 
against his accusers, although thou hast suffered injustice at 
his hands; excuse him if he have erred, and point out his good 
qualities to those who know them not; unperceived, aid 
him in quiet, like a loving, protecting angel — and months and 
years may pass, but some time or other, weeping, loving, 
reconciled, he will lie upon thy breast. The fidelity of thy 
friendship will convince him of its truth and sublimity; 
beholding thy virtue, his love will grow young, and the 
remembrance of the former separation, serve only to heighten 
his tenderness for the future. 

Go to him, lovingly and openheartedly, as one reminding 
him of the happy past; explain thy behaviour; gladly 
acknowledge thy errors ; demand a like explanation of him, let 
all suspicion be uprooted, every misunderstanding cleared up. 
Then thou mayest say again: I have a friend, a brother, a sister. 

He who loves and can love faithfully, is a man not quite 
corrupted ; he is capable of all perfections, he is on the road 
to attain them. But he who is loved, and who knows how 
to render himself unceasingly beloved by his friends, gives 
through this the most indubitable proof of the excellence of his 
heart. Ask thyself then, whom and how lovest thou ? See, 
by how many persons, and with what fidelity, thou art loved. 
Thus canst thou make an estimate of thine own worth. Thou 
canst not, it is true, live with all persons on terms of intimacy 
and close connexion; but thou canst make all good men 
wish to be in such connexion with thee. The evil man is 
pleased with none but himself. He is only his own friend, 

L 



146 BEOKEN FRIENDSHIP. 

and makes others merely the instruments of his views and 
desires. 

Yea ! creator of the divine feelings of friendship which 
burn in my bosom, I will test myself, and recognise my worth 
in the number and worth of those whose esteem I enjoy. 
Oh! my conscience predicts it, that I am not so generally 
loved as I could and should be. And he who is not loved, 
has only himself to blame, because through perfection and 
goodness of soul he knows not how to be amiable. — Only 
through the good-will of all good men am I surer of Thy 
good-will, Oh ! God. How happy could I be ! How far am I 
from being so ! Oh, that I may become so ! Amen. 



VENERATION TO PARENTS. 

EPHESIANS, vi. 1, 3. 



O'er Siiia's heights the thunder roai-'d — 

A voice was heard— (oh! nations hear)— 
" Your parents honor, Israel's sons, 

With holy love and godly fear; 
He who would lead a happy life, 

Nor smart beneath th' avenging rod, 
Must gladly, silently, obey 

His eartlily parents next to God, 

Father of all! do Thou implant 

Deep love within the children's breast- 
Willing obedience may they give — 

And gladly pant for what is best. 
Oh! Father! Whom 1 never saw — 

Thee in my parents may I see — 
And feel Thee near— and know that Thou 

Art ever watching over me. 



Is there on earth a firmer, a closer tie, than the holy one 
which joins the hearts of children to the hearts of those to 
whom they owe their existence? Have we a more tender 
name even for the sublime Creator of the world, than the one 
which we borrow from our earthly parents ? Father; thus 
it is we call the Supreme Being, and we know no sweeter 
name, can discover none more cheering to our hearts. The 
name of father and mother, is the first we learn to stammer 
on earth ; the first which gave us joy and comfort in infancy. 
Oh ! to paint the misfortune of a child, to move the hardest 
heart to compassion, it is sufficient to say : it is an orphan, 
without father and mother ! 

L 2 



148 VENERATION 

Is there on earth a firmer, a closer tie, than the holy one 
by which the hand of nature, the hand of the Deity, has 
joined the heart of the child to the hearts of its parents ? 
Beauteous, indeed, are the relationships of friendship and of 
love, which man cherishes with man, and woman with woman; 
sweet it is to divide your joys with a beloved object, to 
impart your care to a participating heart; but years, and 
circumstances, and manners, inequality of condition, and 
difference of opinions, have often broken many a bond of 
amity under the sun ! But the affection and veneration of 
children for their parents is incapable of decay. We may 
forget, under the pressure of new distractions and foreign 
circumstances, the play-fellows of our youth, the companions 
of our troubles in manhood ; jet parents can never forget the 
most wayward of their children, whether they think of them 
with tender enthusiasm, with loving sadness, or the anxiety 
of a trembling conscience. 

Holy, indeed, is the bond of marriage, which unites the 
husband to the wife. But how often have vice and displeasure 
again broken this link; how often have later times subdued the 
flames of former affection, how often have separations followed 
the most holy vows ! The heart of the child alone, no vice, no 
displeasure, no future times, can part from the heart of the 
parent. Even the most wayward child looks back with all 
the anguish of a reproaching conscience on the days of his 
youth, when he lay innocently in the arms of his father, and 
could rejoice in the unalterable love of his mother, even if he 
have estranged himself from, and made himself unworthy 
of those to whom he owes his existence, his education, the 
first foundation of his present prosperity. 

Many a virtue has withered, many a fine feeling died, 
under the poisonous breath of seduction; but veneration 
for parents cannot be wholly exterminated even in the most 



> 



TO PARENTS. 149 

accomplished villain. To-day, as in the grey antiquity of 
the human race, every human feeling speaks : " The eye that 
mocks at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the 
ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles 
shall eat it." (Prov. xxx. 17.) No ! veneration for parents 
is the first virtue which man receives, learns, and practises ; 
she is the fikst to force her roots into the depth of the 
infantine mind, and hence can never be wholly effaced. She 
is the holy and eternal spark, which burns in our bosom when 
every other feeling of truth, nobleness, and right, may have 
died within it, and at which, oftentimes, all other virtues have 
been relighted, when they had long ago been extinguished. 

Veneration for parents cannot be wholly extinguished ? 
Ah, can it then diminish? Can the bright-burning flame 
dwindle into the dimly-glittering spark? Woe to the human 
race amongst whom this is possible ! Woe to the monsters 
who can forget the mother, at whose breast they first drew 
in their life 3 who can despise the father, who gave them 
sustenance, pleasures, and protection, often at the risk of his 
own life, often at the sacrifice of his own quiet and peace ! Woe 
to the monsters! for the human tongue has as yet invented 
no name for their ingratitude ; none but the mouth of hell can 
give utterance to their abomination. There have been nations 
of antiquity who had no law for parricide, either because 
they considered this the most horrible of all crimes, and 
impossible, or because they desired that even the thought of 
such a possibility should not be obtruded on the world. 

With horror, I perceive the possibility of it in our days, 
in our towns and villages ! I see this dreadful crime, which 
was denied by a heathen ancestry, prevailing amongst a 
Christian community. I see ingrates raised by fortune 
and favouring circumstances, ashamed of their lowly birth, 
blushing at the name of their parents. I see ingrates T\ho 



150 YENEEATION 

dole out to their aged father and sickly and infirm mother, their 
last bread with displeasure and severity, and await their 
death with impatience. I see persons bereft of all conscience, 
incapable of reflection, endeavouring to deprive their good- 
natured, and alas, too-weakminded parents, of their well-gained 
property ! I see men without feelings, who are indifferent to 
the sufferings of their mother, who watched them through 
so many nights of pain at the bed of sickness; who are 
indifferent to the wants of their father, yea, of their father, who 
formerly avoided no care, nor trouble, nor frost, nor heat, to 
procure them an honorable subsistence ! I see madmen, giving 
themselves up to all vices, binding themselves to profligacy, 
gambling, dissipation, and indolence; plunging into shame 
and degradation, unmindful of the burning tears of the mother, 
unheeding the father's just anger or mournful sob ; caring not 
that their venerable hair grows grey through sorrows and 
blighted hopes, and regardless how grief foi-ces them into 
the grave. 

Miserable beings ! how pray ye to the Eternal Father in 
heaven, who esteem not your father and mother, who are the 
vicegerents of the Deity on earth ? Miserable beings ! how 
can you love Jesus Christ, and rejoice in the salvation 
obtained through Him, if ye neglect to love with veneration and 
esteem those who first instilled into your hearts the feeling of 
religion, and surrounded you with love before you knew them? 
Miserable beings! how look you up to Heaven, to Eternity, 
where those must accuse you first who should be the first to 
interest themselves in your favor? where those will hereafter 
stand, who cannot say to the world's judge : Lord, receive 
again, those Thou has given us ! 

Oh thou, who with evil and unfeeling heart, deniest that 
holy love and veneration which thou owest to the creators of 
thy days, to the preservers and educators of thy youth : I call 



TO PARENTS. 151 

thee parricide, matricide ; for tliy severity of heart forced them 
loaded with ingratitude into the grave. Oh ! thou, who art 
ashamed of thy parents, who refusest to become the prop and 
consolation of their old days, I call thee parricide, I call thee 
matricide; for thy unmercifulness forced them into the grave! 
Thou who mockest their blessing, and who, disobedient to 
their precepts, hurriest onward, stained with vices, to plunge 
into crimes and debts, and to weave with shame and disgrace 
chaplets of thorns for the grey-head of thy father and mother ; 
I call thee parricide, I call thee matricide, for it is thy work 
which sinks the creators of thy life with sorrow into the grave ! 

There is a Providence, a judgment, and above and under 
the stars the dark sword of punishment rules ! Woe to thee, 
when thy arms, crippled with age, shall wish for a prop, and 
thou in vain shalt stretch them into the desert of the world ; 
when by thy bed of sickness, no friendly daughter shall tend 
thee, no grateful son offer a prayer for thee ! — Thou art not 
worthy of the high enjoyment of parental joys, if thou didst 
not afford thy parents these joys, but only gavest them grief. 

Away, oh, my soul, from these dreadful images ! How 
deeply they grieve me ! It is comforting to know, that 
ingratitude of children towards parents, is amongst vices 
which but seldom happen ; and that those who stain themselves 
with them are horrible exceptions to the human race; however 
much of feeling, virtue, and even of religion, they may in 
their hj^pocrisy profess. 

^^ Children, obey yoitr pakents in the lord: fok 
THIS IS BIGHT," Say the Holy Scriptures. "Honor thy 

father and THY MOTHER ; W^HICH IS THE FIRST 
COMMANDMENT T^ITH PROMISE ; THAT IT MAY BE WELL 
WITH THEE, AND THOU MAYEST LIVE LONG ON THE EARTH. " 

(Ephes. vi. 1, 3.) 



152 VENEKATIOK- 

Honor thy parents, and obey them in thy youth, for they 
are to thee in God's place. They gave thee life, they gave 
thee nourishment and joys, when thou couldst give them 
nothing but care and anxiety. They watched over thy 
temporal weal, thy health, and thy honor. They watched 
over the goodness of thy heart, and already trained thee for 
Eternity, when thou couldst scarcely understand terrestrial life. 
Obey them : their will be thine* In our love for father 
and mother, our love to God is likewise shown and exercised. 
Love for its parent, is the first religion of the child 5 from this 
love spring, or to it are afterwards added, all the other 
virtues of man. He, who loves his father from his heart, and 
his mother from his soul, is capable of every thing good and 
great ; this veneration is the powerful, protecting angel of the 
innocence of the child, and is the iron staff by which the 
fallen raises himself again. 

Obey thy father and mother, oh ! my child, but with 
joyous soul and without murmuring, for they know what is 
best for thee. Their experience is wisdom for thee. Whether 
they kiss or punish thee, it is always their love which 
rewards, their love which punishes. 

Honor thy father and mother, not through mere 
subserviency of will, as long as thou art young and under their 
care, but also through thy inward demeanour, through amiable 
veneration in words, features, and actions, when thou art no 
longer under their immediate protection. Want of tenderness 
and regard, of esteem and veneration in outward behaviour, 
betrays a rude mind, capable of greater transgressions. The 
eye and the word of a man announce his inner worth or 
worthlessness. — Honor thy parents, for whilst treating with 
veneration those from whom thou art descended, thou 
honourest thyself. 



to pakent9. 153 

Honor thy parents, even when thou art no 
more subservient to their will; and never forget 
THE GOOD THEY HAVE DONE THEE ! Honoi* the Father, 
who on thy account watched many a sleepless night, whilst 
thou sorrowless wast asleep ; who prayed for thee whilst thou 
wast joyously pursuing thy games ; who denied himself many 
a pleasure to give it thee ; who shed many a drop of sweat, 
to obtain thee a comfortable lot in life. Ah, he has lived so 
long, and only for thee, oh ! youth, oh ! daughter ; live now 
gratefully also for him. Honor the mother, who bore thee 
with pains, and who shed even over thy cradle tears of 
love and grief. Wherewith wilt thou recompense this love, 
this grief, these tears, if not with the most tender attention 
during her later days? Think, when thou seest a happy 
infant at its mother's bosom ; thus I likewise lay at the breast 
of my mother, loved by none so tenderly as by her. Think, 
when thou seest a mother sporting with her child with 
enthusiasm, or when thou seest her bent over the couch of 
her sick child with wan cheek; my mother felt the same 
enthusiasm, felt the same pains for me. Ah, how canst thou 
cease to love those who out of love to thee would oft have 
gladly gone the road to death ? How canst thou deny her the 
most tender regard, to whom, of all mortals, thou owest it 
the most ? He who venerates not his father or mother, will 
regard nothing under the face of heaven as venerable and 
holy; HIM avoid, for he has a heart ripe for all crime. 

Honor father and mother, and be their 

PROTECTOR, guardian, FRIEND, AND SUCCOUR IN THEIR 

OLD AGE. The greatest of all joys, which God can give 
on earth to virtuous and thankful children, is to grant 
their parents an advanced age. Then only is it possible for 
them to repay good with good. The weaknesses of age lead 
men back to the helplessness of youth. The hoary father, the 



154 TENERATION 

aged mother, have no longer power to work, nor courage for 
self-protection. Now return them the happy hours which they 
gave thee when a child • now nourish them, and banish all 
care from their hearts, as they once cared for and protected 
thee; now sacrifice thyself for them, as they once sacrificed 
themselves for thee. 

Honor thy parents; and if they have their faults 

SCREEN them LOVINGLY, JUDGE THEM SPARINGLY. They 

have done so much good for thee, they have attained their old 
age with honor : couldst thou now become the stern judge of 
their manners? — And if thou canst not and darest not avoid it; 
if thy own esteem and love force thee, to draw their attention 
to some matter or other, through which they perhaps forfeit the 
esteem of others, so let it be always done, with filial respect, 
AND V7ITH CAREFUL CHOICE OF WORDS; let not thy vcxation, 
but merely the fulness of thy filial love, speak. And if thou 
at last perceive that it is too late to amend these faults, which 
have perhaps taken root many years ago : then be silent. Be 
silent, and do thou alone suffer. Be silent, and make these 
faults as imperceptible, as innoxious, to thee and others, as it 
is possible. Be silent, and conceal their imperfections and 
weaknesses ; for the honor of thy parents is thy honor. 
Bemember, how they beforetimes also quietly bore with thy 
errors and faults and never despised thee, but always remained 
faithfully tender towards thee. Bepay them, for one lives 
who will repay thee. 

Honor thy parents, though they may have been 

AT times harsh, EVEN UNJUST TO THEE. Thou wast UOt 

created to be the judge and punisher of those, thi-ough 
whom, God called thee into existence. Their age demands thy 
assistance ; their grey hairs thy veneration ; their love 
for thee in younger years the ceaseless gratitude of thy later 
days. Were they harsh towards thee, perhaps this severity 



TO PARENTS. 166 

tended to further thy weal. Requite it now with mildness. 
Ah, how sweet it is to make one's own parents one's debtors ! 
Happy is the man, to whom this divine lot comes ! 
Were they unjust towards thee; be thou now just to them, 
remind them not of it, even in the least degree. — Ah, 
each of these remembrances, would be a thorn in the father's, 
in the mother's breast, and hoAV should such a wound be healed 
again in their last days, when time past is irrevocable, and 
when the deed cannot be altered by them ! And if they Avere 
unjust towards thee, dost thou know whether they were not 
deceived through many instigations as to thee and thy habits 
of thought? They were unjust, and still perhaps innocent, 
and full of love for thee. A mother's heart can never cease 
to love, a father's never wholly deny itself. 

Honor thy parents as long as they live on earth. 
Honor them also when thou canst no longer obey them ! 
The obedience of children towards their parents is unconditional 
so long as they are not able to act rightly and properly for 
themselves, and hence require the guidance and care of their 
parents. In mature age, when the son or the daughter 
belong to themselves, when they perhaps already provide 
for their own houses, and have to fulfil the duties of spouse 
and parents, then prudent parents must forego their claims 
to the blind obedience of their children. They no longer 
know all their circumstances, all their wants, or all their 
designs. In some cases they may be experienced counsellors, 
but never commanders. 

The maturity of children frees them from entire subjection, 
but not FROM all obedience. We should and must, as good 
children, even then attend to the wishes of our father or 
mother with respect, if they be not at variance with higher 
duties connected with our profession, or the weal of our own 
children. We must evince for them in later years, even though 



156 VENERATION 

we be ourselves husbands or wives, fathers or mothers, the same 
degree of respect which we did in the years of our youth, for 
they have never ceased to be our parents, though they may 
have ceased to be our instructors and protectors. With tender 
attention we must forestal them in all innocent wishes, and 
must not lay aside either filial duty or filial humility, even 
if we be raised higher than they by the favor of fortune, or 
stand far above them in rank and dignities, position and riches. 
For the claims of the man far precede those of the burgher. 
We were the children of our parents long before we had 
dignities and fortunes ; we are and remain the children of our 
parents, if our condition again plunge us into the abyss of 
human misery. 

Honor thy parents, honor them with pious 

MEMORY, even WHEN THEY EXIST NO MORE. HoUOr them 

by an honorable course of life after their death. Ah, thou wast 
perhaps their last care, their last anxiety, their last joy, their 
last prayer! So be their grave, a sanctuary to thee. So be 
the memory of their loving life, thy pride and joy ! So be 
the look on them, on Eternity, where deep peace abides, thy 
hope ! 

Father ! Mother ! Ye now called into light ! Ye now 
higher beings ! Ah, my eye bursts into tears ; sadness and 
desire for you oppress my heart ! Father ! Mother ! Higher 
beings ! Ye died with love for me in your hearts. I am torn 
from you. I weep on earth alone ! Mother, oh, thy maternal 
love no longer dries my eyes ! Fatlier, thy paternal love 
refreshes me no more ! Ah, I once had a heaven on earth. 
You were then here. Like angels of God ye hovered round 
me and watched over me. Oh, that I could again return to 
the pleasant morning-dream of life ! how well I fared with you ! 

Yea, I shall return to my new morning of life, where you, 
Heavenly beings, shall again smile on me. My hour of death 



TO PARENTS. 157 

will likewise be my hour of birth. Perfected, your child will 
fly to you thither — where God the Father of us all, and His 
blessedness dwell ! — thither, where you await me, and your 
immortal love blooms for me even more brightly than on 
earth. — Oh! father, oh! mother, what happiness, to be again 
yours, wholly and eternally yours, without separation and 
without tears. 

God ! God ! grant me power to live honorably on earth, 
that I may again find the much loved; that I may grow 
perfect in the holiness and virtue of Jesus, in which they 
were perfect! 

And when sin flatteringly approaches my heart, when 
seduction spreads her snares around me, when I grow weak 
and wander on the brink of vicious determinations, and am 
nearly overpowered by wild wishes and desires, and in danger 
of growing unworthy of myself — then paternal fidelity, 
maternal love, parental veneration, do ye appear to the waverer 
as protecting angels of his soul ! As your hand once led me 
to union with God, so may the memory of you lead me again 
into the arms of virtue and religion. 

I will honor my father and mother, as long as I live on 
earth ! 



THE CHOICE OF PROFESSION. 

MARK i. 16, 18. 



Oh! God, my lot in life assign, 
As pleases best Thy wilF divine— 
If, Father, Thou but choose for me 
I cannot err, wliilst unto Thee 
My every hope and thought I give, 
And daily to Thy glory live. 

Will rank and power— if nothing more 
Of holy deeds I have in store; 
Will station— pomp— or splendor save 
From gloomy terrors of the grave— 
Or soothe the care— or heal the smart 
That pains the conscience-stricken heart? 

Whate'er the Christian's state may be, 
Where'er his lot be cast by Thee — 
In weal or woe he may fulfil 
His great Creator's holy will— 
And gladly will all sorrows bear, 
Sustained by Thy constant care. 



There is an illness under which many persons suffer ; it 
is called dissatisfaction with our station, mode of living, and 
profession. This illness is more universally prevalent than we 
believe ; it is the silent cause of more evil than we can well 
imagine. Whilst many a face smiles joyously, a secret poison 
gnaws at the affected heart. We do not like to mention 
it openly. We know that the complaint is uttered in vain. But 
still its voice is sometimes heard in the midst of intimate friends j 
we at times hear words like these escape with a sob from these 
unhappy persons. ^^ If, instead of my present calling, I could 



THE CHOICE OF PROFESSION. 159 

have chosen another, I should now be quite another man ! " Or: 
*' My talents, my inclinations, suit not the affairs to which I am 
condemned ! " Or : '^ In every other calling, except in that 
which I must pursue, I should have been happy ! " Or : 
" I was forced through all sorts of difficult circumstances to 
this profession, this marriage, although I had a presentiment 
that I should receive no happiness from it. My inclinations, 
my heart were not consulted, else it would have been 
otherwise. " 

In good truth nothing is sadder than for a man to live in 
such a state, at eternal variance with himself. His desires are 
always beyond the bounds of his calling. His secret inclinations 
always war with the duties which he must exercise. The 
ordinary affairs of life are disagreeable to him, and he either 
prosecutes them with cool indifference, or else with repugnance. 
He can never without secret pain behold the station of others 
who are or seem to be better situated than himself. In his 
circumstances he always sees the thorns only, and not roses ; 
he occupies himself with greater zeal upon other matters, 
than those w^hich belong to his profession. Hence many a 
disagreeable matter arises. But the reproaches which he 
receives for a negligent attention to his duties grieves him 
but little. He consoles himself by thinking that it could not 
be otherwise, that he has achieved a great deal in making 
matters go on as they do, seeing that he does every thing without 
affection and love. If he were in a suitable station ; if he 
held the profession, the employment for which his inclinations 
fitted him, he would appear better and more zealous than many 
a one who now enjoys a happier lot, and does not understand 
how to make use of it. Secretly he accuses his parents and 
his relations, as being the cause of his not enjoying that station 
in the world to which he should properly belong. 



160 THE CHOICE 

Similar despondency to that which men feel, because of 
the profession for which they have been destined, troubles 
many a secretly-pining wife, touching the matrimonial 
connexion into which she has been forced. Females have 
generally just as little freedom of choice as regards their future 
husband, his qualities and civil rank, as youths have as 
regards the profession which they are to choose. Hence 
marriage turns out at best, seldom as happy for a whole life, 
as it should do, especially when there are no children to fill 
the void and joyless heart of the wife with fine maternal 
feelings. 

The regularity of domestic life increases in us the 
unpleasant desires for that which is wanting. The imagination 
busies itself with silent, oft illicit wishes. We regard ourselves 
as mournful victims of misfortune ; or we seek a remedy in 
wild dissipations ; the husband is not at ease in his dwelling, 
and he seeks enjoyment and relaxation in strange abodes. The 
husband and wife will never be heartily and mutually confiding 
as is to be wished. Each still retains in his inward mind 
certain thoughts and wishes, which he would not disclose. 
Thus often the foundation of later, mutual estrangements, is 
laid, which gives rise to many different misunderstandings, 
and often (if imprudent behaviour lend its hand) to quarrels, 
enmities, and eternal strife, till the holy band be ruptured, or 
judicially done away with. 

Thus it is but too certain, that the avocation and rank of 
man being at variance with his inclinations, is one of the 
most common and dreadful sources of evil. But how is 
this evil for the most part created, which destroys domestic 
happiness at its very root ? 

Perhaps the hand of Deity is often, even very early the 
most important cause of it. Man cannot allot himself his 



OF PROFESSION. 161 

talents, they are born with him. — They must be elicited by 
education and experience. These talents are also generally the 
serm of a rulins; inclination in man for this or that mode of 
life and occupation, just as it is suited to his particular 
capacities. But if the same power that gifted him with 
extraordinary capabilities for any certain avocation, make it on 
the other hand impossible for him to attain a station in which 
the most brilliant use could be made of such qualities, then 
necessarily that inward displeasure arises which lays the 
foundation of long dissatisfaction. 

It frequently happens that the talents and inclinations of 
young men begin to show themselves but very late, and if 
parents and educators were inclined and able to place them in 
any avocation which they might like, still they could not know, 
for which they would hereafter be best suited. Yea! it is often 
the case, that when the choice of his future avocation is left 
unreservedly to the youth, he, misjudging himself, will choose 
the station for which hereafter, when his powers have unfolded 
themselves, he will be least suited. 

On the whole, however, such cases are not gexehal, but 
only exceptions to the course of things in every-day life. And 
what the hand of God has here ordained, has most undoubtedly 
its higher and good results for humanity, if man is but wise 
enough to recognize, and strong enough to attain them. 

Thus has it happened, that many an excellent and talented 
mind, v/hich would have been capable of ruling countries and 
nations, or of advancing the sciences to a higher degree of 
perfection, has been at times foi'ced by contrary events to 
dedicate itself to agriculture or to some handicraft. Had such 
a right to accuse the unfairness of his condition ? Or shall we, 
when we perceive such a seeming contradiction, blame the 
wisdom of God in the dispensation of His gifts ? No indeed ! 
For this talented farmer improved by new discoveries the 



162 THE CHOICE 

culture of the earth ; this talented artisan perfected his art in 
a degree hitherto unknown. For this their extraordinary 
powers were destined ; they were to contribute to the increase 
of the earthly happiness of man in a situation which extremely 
talented minds but seldom fill. In the creations of God, and 
His assignment of human conditions, there is ever a more 
sublime plan than we expect or believe. Nothing is accident. 
The smallest plant has received its situation with some view 
or other, and a stone lies not in vain in the field where it is. 

But man's short-sightedness does not always fathom the 
deeply wise intentions of the Ruler of the world ; and foolish 
self-conceit, which is always the ofi'-shoot of ignorance, daringly 
blames what should fill the mind with devotion and silent 
veneration. 

If at last the object to which Providence points man 
be not attained, then it is his own fault. — It is his vices, his 
foolishness, which allow him to go the wrong road, and blind 
him to what is really good. It is not God which puts him at 
variance with himself. It is man who puts himself at variance 
with God's wiser projects. 

Parents often sow the first seeds of subsequent 
dissatisfaction in the early education of their children 5 the 
ambition of the father, the vanity of the mother, which are 
glossed over by the love of their children, plunge them through 
inconsiderate treatment into later misfortune. The sons receive 
an education, not at all suited to the future calling which, in 
their circumstances, they will be obliged to pursue. They are 
early accustomed to live as masters, whilst they are destined to 
be but servants in future ; their heads are filled with knowledge 
relating to far difierent affairs than to those of the artisan. No 
wonder then, if the young man afterwards show disinclination 
for an avocation which he is forced to pursue, whilst inclinations 
for other pursuits have been already cherished within. 



OF PROFESSION. 163 

The pride of many parents often chooses still worse ways. 
At the cradle of the child his future profession is already 
preordained before it is at all decided, whether he have talents 
for it or not. For the ennoblement of the family, he is to rise 
higher, to play more shining parts, than his parents and 
forefathers did before him. Thus the son of the labourer is 
apprenticed without any means to the artisan ; the son of 
the artisan without sufficient capital to the business of the 
merchant; and the son of the burgher or peasant without 
pre-eminent talents, sent to the higher schools in order to bo 
prepared for a spiritual or learned station. When the best 
part of life has been lost in long preparation, we become, much 
too late, aware of the error, and repentance follows in the 
track of inconsiderate pride. 

We first discover the error either when the son completely 
fails in his destined profession, or when he has become but 
half a man ; when he complains : " If false ambition had not 
seduced my parents, who wished me to fill too high a post, I 
should have now been happier ; I should be able to gain a 
more honorable and safer livelihood. I am now in a station 
where more is demanded of me than I can do. From want 
of sufficient means, I do not see hoAV I shall ever be able to 
lead an independent and honorable life in the station that has 
been assigned me. My life long I shall be but a servant, or 
shall be forced to earn my bread accordingly and sparingly." 

The desire of parents to raise themselves and their 
children above their station, is in the present day a general 
evil, so that we see it almost everywhere. They have forgotten 
to seek their happiness and their renown in the station 
assigned them by God, and conceitedly wish to improve the 
dispensations of the world's rule. 

This error most generally takes place in the treatment of 
the daughters. They receive an education, which mostly 

M 2 



164 THE CHOICE 

exceeds tlieir rank. Instead of accustoming tliem to tliat 
simplicity and frugality wliicli are calculated to make an honest 
man happy, they are accustomed to all sorts of conveniences, 
to pleasures and dissipations, for which the future husband 
has often neither inclination nor capital. Instead of making it 
possible for tliem to render their own life and their husband's 
easier by giving them a rich dowry, all savings are spent in 
dress and show, in order to make the daughter shine before all, 
in the hope that some rich man will prefer the virtues of this 
well-educated girl to all fortune. — The results of this are 
unhappily but too evident. The honest man, not able to 
maintain all the show and supply the little conveniences and 
wants to which the fine-educated daughter is accustomed, 
foregoes any alliance with the same. He rather chooses for 
himself one of his own rank, w^ho in the place of flimsy dress 
brings him at least as much property as will assist him in the 
furnishing of his house. An ornamented poverty sinks into 
oblivion, and the highflying plans of parental pride become 
humbled, according to the number of years in which the 
juvenile attractions of the daughter are fading away. 

Hence the mass of unmarried, particularly in large 
towns, wdiere the foolish desire of raising yourself above 
your station and of doing as those who are richer do, is ever 
on the increase. Plence the mournful lot of such girls, who 
must in solitude fade away contrary to the destination of their 
sex, or who must bid farew^ell to their high pretensions, and, 
in order to be provided for, offer their hands to men whose 
employment, whose education, falls far beneath what they 
have expected. Hence the complaints, that apparently 
higher talents and nobler inclinations are at variance with 
the actual avocation j hence dissatisfaction with one's station j 
hence broken-up households, unhappy marriages. 

But the ruling passionate desire for reading which 



OF PROFESSION. 165 

obtains in greater and lesser towns, tends mueli to corrupt the 
head and hearts of young men and maidens, Avith reference to 
their future avocation and station. Young people believe they 
are cultivating their manners and improving their taste, when, 
without any choice, without the advice of a prudent friend, they 
read indiscriminately, novels, romances, and plays, expecting 
to learn from them something useful for their future avocations. 
But unhappily they care not so much for the pretended 
improvement of their mind, as for agreeable fantasies for 
their already too-easily excited imagination. By means of 
these they raise their mutual feelings to a degree of foolish 
susceptibility. Every-day life grows insipid and disagreeable 
to them, because it is quite different to, and much more serious 
than, the fantastic creations of the poet's brains. They make 
liigher and more dreamy demands on the world than it either 
can or will fulfil. They accuse life where they should only 
accuse their own disturbed mind and imagination. 

Not that I would blame the works of our poets 5 but 
their abuse by inexperienced youth, and the negligence and 
indifference of parents" and educators is to blame. For what 
talented men have composed and written for the amusement 
of the mind, must not be made the chief occupation of youth. 

Youth, I speak of thy futurity, of the happiness of thy 
whole life, of the choice of thy occupation and rank. — Thou, 
more than any one else, art interested in thine own lot. 
Reflect seriously what civil avocation thou wilt enter upon 
for the whole of thy life. To retire from it when the choice 
is made is no longer easy, oftentimes impossible. 

Choose not thy future business of life from pride or 
vanity, nor with foolish and easily satisfied expectation of the 
favor of fortune ; but examine in what thou art most talented, 
and in what thou wouldst be able to distinguish thyself most. 
Consider also whether thou hast the external means, 



166 



THE CHOICE 



which are requisite to assist thee in the course which thou hast 
chosen. — Never choose from pride or vanity, but in the 
conviction that thou canst apply those talents, which thou hast 
received from God, in the most useful manner for others. 
Look not only to honor akd easy peoeits, but to sijke 
PEOFiTs, and to the certainty that thou wilt bring honor on 
thy station. Truly, every station is honorable, if thou canst 
by thy knowledge, industry, and skill, make the honor that 
belongs to it visible. Choose, but consider the number of 
persons who dedicate themselves to the same calling, and with 
all of whom thoii must enter into competition. In what dost 
thou excel them ? 

Choose, but remember that the wise man will always 
stand in his right place, whatever rank of life he be in, 
whether high or low. Remember that it is better to be the 
first in a less honorable calling, than the last in one more so. 

But if the choice of thy pi^ofession has been made, 
or if thou must choose contrary to thy inclination, because 
unconquerable circumstances force thee to it; cease then to 
be dissatisfied with the station on which thou hast entered. 
Thy road is now the will of God ! Walk it with confidence, 
it is the road to thy fortune. Thou dost not perhaps conceive 
it; but in after times thou wilt recognise and praise it. It now 
depends on thyself to become the most honored, the most 
useful, and the most wealthy in thy station. And this thou 
wilt become, if thou always remember three rules. — With 
untiring industry to be the most perfect in thy business — to 
make every one indebted to thee, through thy usefulness 
and kindness of heart — and never to depart from God and 
His will, for from Him alone fortune and blessing can 
descend on thy avocation. 

Yea, and in thine, to thee unpleasant and yet unalterable, 
situation, thou hast received from above the power of 



OF PROFESSION. 167 

being this, if this thou wiU be; if thou hast sufficient strength 
and prudence not to be ceaselessly striving with what cannot 
be changed by thee ; if thou hast sufficient courage to break 
thy obstinacy, and to follow the intimations of God, Who 
placed thee, of course intentionally, in this thy present position. 

It is ambition and childish obstinacy to strive against 
impossibility, which makes thee dissatisfied with thy position. 
Truly it is neither thy position nor thy calling which makes thee 
unhappy. Look around and see how many thousands live in 
the same circumstances, and have not the manifold advantages 
enjoyed by thee. But thy obstinacy makes thee still more 
hardened against the good, which thy present circumstances 
can afford thee ; thus thou foolishly losest even the days of 
joy, which would smile on thee if thou wert wiser. 

No one can have that station, can play that part in the 
world, which he wishes. — God chooses ! He knows what is 
best for thee and all in the great arrangement of the world. 

The prince on the throne desires the happy quiet of the 
middle class ; the soldier, the comfortable life and security of 
the countryman; the clergyman, the business-circle of the 
active merchant ; the merchant, the secure though more 
moderate occupation of the artisan. — Each station has its own 
peculiar cares. 

Perform therefore thy duties, in that station in which thou 
livest. Why art thou ever striving with thy wishes for some 
other thing, why dost thou forget in thy chase after the better 
which thou desirest, the good which thou really possessest ? 
Wilt thou, like an obstinate fool, rise hungry from the table 
laden with meat, because thou waitest in vain for more costly 
dishes ? See, one day after the other passes away, and week 
after week, and what has hurried on unenjoyed, must remain 
unenjoyed for ever. How long wilt thou still forego it ? Who 
knows but thy life will be ended before thou canst attain that 



168 THE CHOICE OF PEOFESSION. 

object, after which thou art striving with unquiet desire? 
What wouldst thou then have? What would thy dissatisfaction, 
thy desire for the better, avail thee ? Through the kindness 
of God in thy real situation much good was offered thee, but, 
fool that thou wast, thou didst not understand how to enjoy it 
with true prudence of life. How shouldst thou ever have 
been worthy of a still greater lot ? 

And thou, oh maiden ! uncertain is thy lot for the future ; 
uncertain whether any one will offer thee his hand as husband, 
uncertain who it will be ! Prepare thyself, so that thou 
canst in future never become entirely unhappy with any one, 
whoever it may be. Expect therefore little from others, most 
of thyself. Accustom thyself to no comforts, which it would be 
difficult for thee to abstain from. Let thy finest jewel be 
modesty and domestic habits; in thy clothes, be thy aim 
cleanliness and simplicity, without love of splendor, and fall 
not in with every new fashion. The prudent man never 
chooses from what the maiden wears, but from what the wife 
brings. But to her, and rightly, he always gives the preference 
who already proclaims by her outward modesty that she 
wants and demands but little, and shows by order and 
economy that she is able to give much. 

My Father in heaven. Thou who assignest me a station 
according to Thy views, let me fill it with dignity ; for it is 
the best one for me. Thou hast called me to it. Whilst I 
with honest zeal, without any designs of ambition and avarice, 
fulfil the duties of this station in every department, I am only 
fulfilling Thy holy will ! Amen. 



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